


I am the man we both couldn't stand

by Miles_2_Go



Series: I always figured I'd be the one to die alone [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Angst (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Lost in Time, Dick Grayson is Batman, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heroes in Crisis Spoilers (DCU), Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Lazarus Pit, POV Jason Todd, POV Tim Drake, Rebirth Spoilers, Spoilers for Red Hood and the Outlaws #27, Starvation, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Timeline What Timeline, Whump, canonical attempted non-con mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miles_2_Go/pseuds/Miles_2_Go
Summary: Bruce Wayne is lost in time. Tim Drake is just lost. Jason Todd is going to find him, but what will be left to find?
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: I always figured I'd be the one to die alone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907866
Comments: 128
Kudos: 744
Collections: Best of the Batfamily





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with the idea of this fic for a while.
> 
> Okay, yes. The timeline here is FUCKED, I know. But shhh, it’s okay. It’s comics. Basically, this fic is set during the current (as of mid-2020) Rebirth timeline, but the 2009 Red Robin run is spliced in and Bruce is lost in time and Tim is looking for him. Dick is Batman, and Jason has already been an Outlaw with Kory, Roy, Artemis, and Bizarro. Artemis and Biz haven't come back from the alternate dimension yet, and it hasn't been long since Jay found out the...thing about Roy that's a spoiler if you haven't read RHatO #27. Okay? Okay.  
> Oh, also Jay hasn’t undergone a costume change in this fic. I actually really like his new Rebirth look, but I’m sticking with the good old New 52 look for now. The helmet is just way too damn useful. And the crowbar is dumb.
> 
> Also, be warned MAJOR SPOILERS for Rebirth Red Hood and the Outlaws, specifically involving Roy Harper and issue #27. It's also a spoiler for Heroes in Crisis.
> 
> Title is from Matt Meason's "The Hearse."

Dick Grayson’s voice was not at all what Jason had expected to hear when he’d fumbled for his ringing phone on the nightstand and hit the speaker button.

“You need my  _ what, _ now?” he asked, his normally gravelly voice even more rough with sleep, face still half-buried in his pillow. He turned his head to face the phone a little better.

Dick sighed audibly. “Help, Jason. I need your help.”

Jason blinked the sleep out of his eyes and glared at the phone. “What the hell could you possibly need  _ my _ help with? You got like three-hundred friends you could call.” He paused a beat, then… “You need me to shoot someone?”

Dick, to his credit, did not take the bait. Dick Grayson passing on the chance to be sanctimonious was not a good sign. “I need you to find Tim.”

Jason sat up and picked the phone up from the nightstand, switching it off of speaker and pressing it to his ear. “You lost Tim? How’d you lose a whole Robin?”

“He’s not  _ lost.” _ Jason could practically hear Dick rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. “He left. We...had an argument.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow. “What did you do.” An accusation more than a question. Tim “Spock” Drake, the quiet, logic-driven boy genius was not the type to just run away over a minor “argument.” No, this had Dick-Grayson-the-drama-queen-fucked-it-all-up written all over it. Dick’s long pause was all the response Jason needed.

“Whatever, I don’t even wanna know. When was the last time you saw him?” Another long pause. The guilt pouring off of Grayson was so thick Jason could almost smell it through the phone.

“Since...not long after the funeral.”

“The  _ fune— _ Dick, that was  _ six months _ ago. You’re telling me he’s been missing for  _ six months _ and you’re only  _ just now _ worrying?”

“I’m not  _ just now _ worrying, I’ve been worried about him from the start. I know what he’s been doing, I just don’t know  _ where _ and I thought...I thought he’d be back by now. He’s...he didn’t take Bruce’s death well. He thinks he’s still  _ alive. _ He went to look for him. I thought...I thought if I let him go, if I gave him some space, he’d...process it, and then he’d come back home.”

“Wait, Bruce is  _ alive?” _ How the hell? Why the hell was he so out of the loop? It was too early for this shit.

“Bruce is dead, Jason. We buried him.”

Jason sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Dickie, this is  _ Tim Drake _ we’re talking about _. _ If he thinks Bruce is alive, he probably is. You don’t believe him? Jesus, no wonder he ran off. You tried to convince him he was crazy, didn’t you? You wanna throw him in Arkham, too?”

“You know what, nevermind. I  _ will _ call someone else.”

“Nah, Dickie-bird, you don’t get to hang up on me. You’re not gonna call anyone else, it don’t work that way. This is bat-only business, that’s why you called me. You already got the girls looking?”

“Barbara’s been trying to trace him, but it’s Tim. He’s good enough to hide from anyone, even Oracle. Cass is...safe, but not in contact. Steph’s trying to help out, but it’s not really her skillset.”

“And you? How come you’re not out combing the globe, huh? Too busy with the new gig to help out little bro?”

“Don’t be an asshole. You know that’s not how it is. Any one of you is more important than this stupid cowl.” Jason blinked at that.  _ Any one of you. _ When had Dick started including  _ him _ in sentences like that? “It’s not the costume. It’s Damian. I’ve got my hands full with him. He’s...I can’t exactly leave him alone in Gotham. He’d tear through this city’s underground the second I took my eyes off him. And I can’t go traipsing the planet with him, either. He’s too much to handle for that. It has to be you, Jay. I need your help. Please.”

Jason wouldn’t admit it, but he’d come to like Tim. He’d stopped being pissed at  _ Tim _ for replacing him. It wasn’t really the kid’s fault. No, that was all Bruce.

Bruce. Alive? Jason’s head was spinning. He’d been serious—if Tim believed it, Jason was inclined to trust the kid’s instincts. He had a hell of a brain, and he was a hell of a detective. He wouldn’t have said anything to Dick if he weren’t absolutely certain. 

And Tim was out looking for him. Alone. Thinking his whole family thought he was crazy. Jason felt a twinge of empathy.

“Okay. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

—— 

Two weeks later, Jason was in Qurac and he was not happy about it. Qurac was  _ not _ one of his favorite places. He’d died here. Roy had been imprisoned here. Dick had even had second thoughts about sending him, when they’d figured it out. In the end, though, Tim’s life was worth risking Jason’s triggers. He could do this. He’d be fine. He’d managed just fine when he’d come to rescue Roy.

But he’d had Kory with him, then. Now he was alone. Kory was off somewhere in space, Biz and Artemis were...gone, and Roy...Roy was...

It was fine.

Between Barbara and Dick’s skills and Jason’s contacts, they’d managed to track Tim’s current location to one of a few countries in the middle east, and Qurac seemed to be the most likely on the list. Jason had done some snooping around the locals and gotten ahold of some gossip about an American boy who had been causing a bit of a stir wandering through villages. Jason’s Quraci was barely passable, especially with the hundreds of varied dialects that could change from village to village, but what he understood of the accounts seemed...off. The boy these people were talking about didn’t sound like Tim, but it was the only lead he had.

If it turned out that this boy  _ was _ Tim...something was wrong. Very wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy stumbled on the rough sandstone cobble when the shopkeeper pushed him out the door. He was wearing a tattered hooded cloak, the hood down, its edges pooling over his thin shoulders and falling down his back. He was turned away from Jason, but he was the right height. The right skin tone. Hair a bit longer than when Jason had seen him last, coming down a little past his ears now, but it was the right color, right texture. The boy waved an angry, dismissive hand at the shopkeeper as he shuffled away. The shopkeeper scoffed and slammed the rough-hewn wooden door, the sound of a bolt lock sliding shut behind it.

Jason followed the boy silently, keeping his distance and sticking to the shadows. Something wasn’t right with the way the boy moved. His gait was slow, uneven, as though he were having trouble keeping his balance. He stumbled several times, each time barely catching himself. The cloak hid the shape of his body, but the narrowness of his shoulders, the sharp edge of his jaw when Jason caught part of his side profile, the hard lines of the tendons in his thin neck, all suggested that he was much, much thinner than Tim. At least thinner than when Jason had seen him last.

The boy turned a corner into an alley and Jason stopped. A tall stucco wall ran around the border of the village, and Jason could see over the roofs of the short buildings in this area that the wall ran through the end of that alley. It was a dead end.

He was being led into a trap.

Jason steeled himself and stepped into the alley. There was a blur, and then a knife was at his neck. Wide blue eyes stared back at him, too close to his face. Then the eyes widened in recognition, and a rough, choked gasp bounced off of the stone walls of the alley. The knife disappeared and the boy stumbled back.

It was then that Jason got his first good look at Tim.

Another gasp. This voice was older, deeper, more gravelly. It was Jason’s turn to stumble back. His back hit the wall and his hand shot up unconsciously to touch the white streak nestled in his own dark hair.

He stared in shock at the new matching streak in Tim’s.

Jason’s voice was ragged, broken. “Ah, fuck.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason didn't know what the hell he'd expected to find, but this...sure as hell wasn't it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this timeline, Tim never went back to Gotham, and Tam never came looking for him. He’s been gallivanting around looking for Bruce, working with/for Ra’s, and getting into all kinds of trouble. Some of the same things that went on in Red Robin still happened, just a little differently. Also, Battle for the Cowl mostly didn’t happen.  
> Edited some dates in the first chapter. If you read 1 and 2 before 3 was up, Tim has now been gone for six months instead of three. I've also made quite a few minor edits to chapters 1 and 2, so it's probably worth a quick re-read.
> 
> ...also not sorry for the cliffhanger. >:)
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: TW for Tim's near-assault by Promise. If you read RR fic, it's nothing you haven't read before. Just a quick flashback, nothing graphic.

Tim recovered first, his wide eyes narrowing into a scowl as he reached up to yank the hood over his hair. “Don’t look at me like that,” he croaked from a dry throat. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

Jason’s eyes were still focused on the spot under the hood where the white streak was now hidden. “Tim, what the hell happened?”

Tim blinked. He couldn’t recall ever hearing his name come from Jason’s mouth. Usually it was _Replacement,_ or a nickname. _Timmy, Tim-bit, Timmers._ Never just Tim.

“What do you _think_ happened, Jason?” Tim shook his head. He was too tired for this. The small adrenaline boost he’d gotten from noticing he was being followed and readying for an attack was already fading. He could feel himself wavering on his feet. He put a hand out on the wall to steady himself. “It doesn’t matter," he said tiredly. "It’s done now. How did you find me?”

Jason shook himself out of his shock. “Barb and Dick. Dick was worried that you’d been gone for so long. Wanted to come find you himself, but he had his hands full with the Demon Brat, so he sent me.”

The mere mention of Damian had Tim’s heart rate picking up and a green tinge creeping into his vision. He took several deep breaths and tried to push it down. He could feel his nails digging into the stone where his hand still touched the wall. He closed his eyes against it, but the dark was green, too. He couldn’t get away from it.

He could still hear Jason’s voice, but the words didn’t make any sense. The tone was low, and soothing. Placating, like Jason was talking to a spooked horse. Tim felt a twinge of annoyance, but he had to admit it was helping a bit. It gave him something to focus on and he tried to tune into Jason’s words.

“...about the first time you learned to grapple, the first time you were flying over Gotham. Remember that feeling? The scared twist in your gut like you were falling, but once you knew you were really in control it was like your veins were electric. You felt like you could do anything, right? Remember how that felt?”

He could. He’d been 13. He hadn’t undergone much training yet, then—he didn’t even know how to fight yet, but he’d _begged_ Bruce to teach him how to fly before anything else. He could follow Batman anywhere if he knew how to fly.

Bruce. He’d found proof. Bruce was alive. The feelings that set off in his chest were enough to latch onto. He focused on that and pushed everything else down. The green didn’t go away completely—it never really did—but it receded some. He opened his eyes and blinked heavily at Jason.

Without the green fueling him, whatever dregs of energy he’d managed to scrounge up before drained away and his legs stopped cooperating. He felt himself slump forward and was vaguely aware of Jason’s arms catching him.

—— 

Tim opened his eyes and blinked at Jason. The color drained from his face and Jason could see it coming before it happened. The kid’s knees buckled and he would have face planted if Jason didn’t lunge forward to catch him.

He was worryingly light in Jason’s arms.

Jason lifted him up and looked around for somewhere to set him. There was a curtain hanging in a nearby doorway and Jason reached up and ripped it down. He tossed it onto the ground and kicked it into a pile. He set Tim down on it, leaning him upright against the alley wall. Tim’s eyes were open, but they were unfocused. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying and failing to track his surroundings.

Jason pulled Tim's cloak open and began to check for injuries. Underneath the heavy brown cloak, Tim’s clothes were dark, soft, high quality. League ninja garb. A flash of anger ripped through Jason and he swallowed it down. What the fuck had happened? How had Tim gotten involved with the League? What the hell had they _done_ to him?

He didn’t find any injuries, but he didn’t like what he saw. Tim had never had an ounce of fat on him to begin with, but he was even thinner now. He’d lost a ton of muscle mass.

Jason pulled the cloak back shut and reached up to remove the hood. Tim stirred in weak protest, but Jason ignored it. He didn’t let himself look at the white. He probed his hands methodically through Tim’s hair, feeling for injuries. Nothing.

Satisfied that Tim wasn’t bleeding out from somewhere, he smacked a hand to his face gently. Tim’s cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken, the skin beneath them a sickly bruised red-purple. “Timmy? You with me?”

Tim grunted softly and shook his head, blinking hard. His eyes were still unfocused, but they wavered until they found Jason’s face.

“Mm,” he grunted. Jason took it as an affirmative.

“When’s the last time you ate, kid?”

“Nn. Haven’t. No money. Scared of me.”

Jason snorted in annoyance. He remembered the shop keeper kicking Tim out. “You too noble to steal from the poor, Robin Hood?”

Tim huffed. He blinked a few more times, his clouded eyes starting to clear some. “No. Can’t go to the markets. Too many people ‘round. Ev’rything goes green. Don’t wanna hurt.”

Jason got it. He’d been there. Pit madness. He’d already had to talk the kid down from an episode within five minutes of finding him. He couldn’t imagine how Tim had been dealing with it on his own for...who knows how long. Obviously he _hadn’t_ been dealing with it.

“What about sleep?”

Tim snorted. It wasn’t quite a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jason sighed. Nightmares and pit madness did not make for a fun wake up call. Real sleep was out of the question if Tim expected to stay in control. He’d probably been getting by on short, fitful naps.

“Alright, kid. I’m taking you home.”

Tim started and shook his head frantically, his eyes widening, finally focusing on Jason’s face. He reached up to wrap a fist in Jason's jacket. “No. no. I can’t go there. Not with Dick. D...Damian. I won’t be able to control it.”

“Calm down, Hulk, we don’t have to go to the manor. I’ll take you to my place or something.”

He stood, shaking Tim's grip from his jacket. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

—— 

Some time later they were in a truck Jason had...borrowed, hauling ass down what passed for a road in the middle of the desert, making their way to the local airport. Tim hadn’t really agreed to go back to the states, but Jason didn’t give him a choice, and he couldn’t really argue. A stiff wind would have knocked the kid over. He was utterly exhausted and literally starved. Jason had had to carry him to the truck as it were. He tried not to think about how close Dick had cut it. Tim probably wouldn't have lasted much longer out there on his own in this state.

“I can walk,” he’d grumbled, but he hadn’t put up a real fight.

“Sure you can, Buttercup, but I ain’t waiting for your wobbly ass to try and keep up with me. I got things to do.”

Jason had dumped him unceremoniously in the truck’s back seat where he had promptly conked out.

After Jason was sure that Tim was really sleeping, he pulled over and got out of the truck. He closed the door as quietly as he could and leaned back against it. He pulled out his phone and dialed Dick.

“I got your boy,” he said by way of greeting.

Dick’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thank god. Is he okay?”

“He’s...alive.” _Now._ Fuck. “Uninjured.”

Dick paused. Processing. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse. God, Dick...Look. If the kid wants to tell you, that’s his prerogative. It’s none of my business. But, yeah, it ain’t good.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“That’s probably not a good idea. Anyway, he’s sleeping. Listen. Earlier, he...I said something that...upset him. I mentioned Damian. What’s the deal between them? Is he jealous the brat’s Bruce’s real kid or something?” That wasn’t like Tim at all, but why else would he almost Hulk out at just hearing mention of the little squirt? That _had_ to be what had triggered the Lazarus rage, there hadn’t been much else there.

Dick's tone was reserved. “Tim’s upset that I...gave Robin to Damian.”

Jason’s thoughts skidded to a halt. It took him a second to form words. “Upset." He said, voice dangerous. "That _you_ gave Robin to Damian. You. Gave Robin. To Damian.”

Tim hadn’t given Robin up. Jason had assumed this whole Red Robin schtick (oh, and don’t think they weren’t having a conversation about Little Timmy taking _another_ of Jason’s old mantles later) was the kid’s way of moving on after Bruce’s death. But he hadn’t stepped away from Robin willingly. Dick had taken it from him. _Replaced_ him. Oh no. No no no. This was not happening. Not on his watch.

He could _almost_ feel the green working its way up from the depths where he had finally long ago buried it. Almost.

He could hear the wince in Dick’s voice. “I don’t want to hear it, Jason." He sounded tired. Stressed. "I could have gone about it a better way, I know, but I’m not sorry I did it. Damian needed it more. Tim is… _was_ Bruce’s Robin. It would be a demotion for him to be mine. We’re equals. It was time.”

“And you think that was _your_ decision to make, Golden Boy? Not _Tim’s,_ maybe?”

“Look, I _know._ I should have done it differently, okay? I get it. But it’s done now. You wanted to know what reason Tim would have to resent Damian, that’s it. I took Robin, I called Tim crazy, I drove him away. I fucked up. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Dick. Listen to me.” Jason shifted his gaze to look through the window at Tim sleeping, curled in on himself, defensive even in his sleep. His eyes fell on the streak of white in his hair. “I don’t know if you can fix this.”

He could hear Dick speaking around a lump in his throat. “I have to try. Just bring him home?”

“That’s what you’re payin’ me to do, boss.”

Dick gave a half-hearted snort and cleared his throat. “I don’t remember agreeing to a fee."

“Don’t worry your pretty little head," Jason said lightly. "I know Bruce’s bank account passwords.” Jason was about to hang up, when Dick spoke again.

“Hey, Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“You can come, too, you know. Home.”

Jason didn’t respond. He hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

—— 

“Kid.” The voice was urgent, but not panicked. It was familiar, but his groggy mind couldn’t seem to identify whether the source was friend or foe. Tim sat bolt upright, blinking blearily, his brain trying and failing to stutter online.

 _“Kid,”_ the voice said again, more urgent this time. “You make some friends while you were here?”

Tim wiped at his eyes, trying to clear away the sleep grunge. Robin, his brain supplied helpfully. That was Robin’s voice. Older, more gravelly, but unmistakably him. _Robin_ was talking to _Tim?_

The truck hit a large bump, jolting Tim in his seat, jarring him awake more fully. Oh. Jason. Red Hood Jason, not Robin Jason. Jesus, Tim was worse off than he thought.

Wait, where did he stand with Jason right now? Did Jason still want him dead?

No, they were good now. Right? They’d worked together a few times. They’d exchanged phone numbers. Talked a little. Had gotten to know each other some. Allies. That’s right.

Why was Jason looking at him like that?

Oh, he’d asked a question. Focus.

“What?” he managed to croak. “What do you mean?”

Jason was turned around in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The truck was still barrelling forward, but Jason was looking out the back window. It wasn’t like he needed to pay all that much attention to the road out here. There was nothing but miles of empty desert ahead of them.

Jason nodded meaningfully toward the back window.

“We got company,” he said. “Any idea who?”

Tim twisted around in his seat to look. There was a plume of dust far behind them on the road. If he squinted, he could make out another truck.

He swore, then swallowed.

“Uh, maybe. Could just be some locals?” he tried, hopefully.

“On this road? Way out here? You think _we_ got that kind of luck?”

Tim rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah, it’s probably the League.”

“Shit. Great. Wonderful. So what’s your current status with them? Hard to keep up these days.” He looked pointedly at Tim’s clothes.

Tim screwed his face up in thought. “You know, I’m not too sure right now, to be honest. Ra’s _probably_ doesn’t want me dead—he’s probably not ready to write me off after all the time and resources he's wasted on me so far. Let’s go with re-capture for me. You, I’m not so sure. He’s still trying to...I don’t know, recruit me? He might not kill you if he wants to stay on my good side. Then again, he might not care anymore. I think at this point all he cares about is making little assassin babies with me.” He shuddered at the memory of shackles on his wrists, warm hands undoing the fastenings on his suit. “Doesn’t really need me to cooperate for that, so. Safe side of things is assuming—capture me, kill you.” He nodded. Yeah, that sounded accurate. He looked up at Jason and…

Jason was gaping at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

Oh. He’d been rambling, hadn’t he? He rubbed his eyes again. _Focus._

“Uh. Sorry.”

“Assassin babies,” Jason said slowly.

“Uh. Long story.”

“We’re talking about that. Later.”

Tim huffed. Talking sounded _exhausting._ He just wanted to sleep. He could finally _sleep_ now that Jason was around. Jason would take him out if he woke up in a Lazarus rage and started attacking everything in sight.

He turned to look out the window again. The truck was gaining on them.

Assassins _also_ sounded exhausting.

“How long was I out? How far are we from...wherever we’re going? Any chance we can stay ahead of them?”

Jason had his eyes back on the road ahead now. “It’s been about half an hour. Airport. Not far, twenty minutes away, maybe? _Too_ far—they’ll catch up before we get there.”

Shit. Tim wasn’t too proud to admit he was in no condition to fight. Even when the pit madness took hold, it wasn’t like it gave him any kind of enhanced stamina, just an insane adrenaline boost. Which would probably give him a chance for a bit, but not long enough to matter.

His sluggish brain worked to pull together some kind of plan.

“Okay. Maybe we can—”

Tim forgot what he had been about to say when the rear windshield _exploded._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim confront their pursuers.

Jason swore as the cab of the truck burst into chaos. The air was full of glass and a large part of the dash just to the right of the steering wheel suddenly imploded. The truck swerved wildly as Jason fought the instinct to  _ get the fuck away. _

“What the fucking shit was  _ that?” _ He twisted his head back to check on Tim. “You alive back there, Replacement?”

Tim had clambered down into the floorboard and was shaking chunks of safety glass out of his hair. “Fine,” he said. “You?”

Jason shrugged, giving his own body a cursory glance. “I don’t feel shot. That’s what that fucking was, right? A fucking gunshot?” He shoved the gas pedal all the way to the floor, hoping to put more distance between them and their pursuers. He swerved the truck in a slight zig-zag motion to try and throw off their aim. “Is there a fucking  _ sniper _ shooting at us from that fucking  _ moving vehicle? _ How is that even  _ possible? _ Who did you piss off, kid,  _ Deadshot?” _

And how the hell did it so happen that the League just  _ happened _ to find Tim the same time Jason had?

That was definitely a problem for later.

An exasperated sound came from the floor of the backseat. “Stop the truck.”

Jason did not fucking stop the fucking truck. “I’m not fucking stopping the fucking truck, Timothy. Why the  _ hell _ would I do that?”

He risked a glance back at Tim and he could see...annoyance? On the kid’s face. Not anger, not fear,  _ annoyance. _ “I know who’s in that truck. Just, trust me. Pull over.”

Jason grit his teeth. “Jesus kid. If you get us  _ both _ double-killed I am going to be so goddamn pissed.” Man, if they survived this, he was going to have so much more back-from-the-dead material to work with now.

Against his better judgement, Jason hit the breaks and steered the truck to the side of the road. When it came to a complete stop he turned to Tim, trying to keep his head below the windows. 

“What  _ now, _ boy genius?” he hissed.

Tim crawled toward the door and kicked it open. “Stay in the truck and stay down,” he said. He took a breath, visibly collecting himself, and climbed out of the truck.

Jason cursed and grabbed for his bag in the passenger side floorboard. He pulled his helmet out of it and shoved it onto his head, glad that he had let paranoia get the better of him and worn his armor under his clothes even though it was hot as hell.

He didn’t come all this way to let the kid get himself killed.

Jason pushed open the door and stepped out into the desert.

—— 

It took about four minutes for the other truck to reach them. Jason positioned himself crouched at the hood of their own stolen truck, using the bulk of the vehicle as cover.

Tim stood in the open. Despite Jason’s protests. And threats.

He stood leaning on the truck for support, but as the other vehicle neared, Tim pushed himself off of it and stood under his own power. Jason kept a close eye, but he didn’t seem to waver or sway. There couldn’t be much more than pure resolve holding him upright at this point. Jason was a little impressed.

While Tim stood steady, Jason pulled a gun from its holster and propped his elbows on the hood of the truck, aiming for the driver of the other vehicle. Tim glared at him, but didn’t try to stop him. Kid apparently knew when to choose his battles. “Let me  _ talk _ first,” he hissed. “ _ No _ lethal shots. She’s not the enemy.”

She? Jason didn’t give a verbal response, going instead with a neutral shrug.  _ Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. _

The truck rumbled to a stop and the driver killed the engine. Tim shifted his glare from Jason to their new companions. The doors on either side of the truck opened, and the three passengers stepped out into the sand. Jason tensed and flipped the gun’s safety off.

The driver and front passenger were both faceless League ninja, wrapped in dark clothes, genderless, only their eyes showing.

The third was a woman. White, bald. A nasty scar on her throat. Jason noticed Tim take a deep breath when his eyes fell on her. There was something in her face when she looked at Tim, too. They knew each other. Well.

“Pru,” Tim said, his voice calm and steady.

“Birdy,” she responded, her voice lilting with a London accent. “Long time no see.” She tilted her head and eyed him up and down, frowning, her eyes lingered on his hair.

“You’re here to take me back.”

The woman, Pru, crossed her arms and huffed. “Shouldn’t  _ have _ to be chasing after you, Tim.” Jason’s eyebrows shot up at the sound of Tim’s name. Ra's knew all of their identities, but that didn't mean all his lackeys did. This lady must be pretty high up to be allowed to know that kind of thing and still have her head attached to her body.  _ “Should _ be having drinks in the bleedin’ tavern. Today’s Thursday, y’know. We’d normally be having drinks. But  _ you _ decided to up and do a runner, and now here we are. Took me a bloody  _ month _ to track your arse to this sand pit."

Tim’s jaw clenched. “What did you think, Pru? Did you think I was just going to hang around after...after...”

Something flickered across Pru’s face, only for a second. She shook her head, vanishing whatever emotions had begun to creep up. “Don’t matter. Ra’s sent me to fetch you. Time to come home." She paused, that unnameable emotion flickering over her face once more. "He can help you. Maybe the only one who can."

Jason snorted. Loudly. Pru's eyes flickered to him and narrowed thoughtfully before shifting back to Tim.

Tim’s hands balled into fists. Jason watched him carefully, but didn’t see any signs of real anger. Yet, anyway.

“I’m not going back, Pru,” he said. His voice was hard, firm, but still calm. “If you take me back, it won’t be like it was. I betrayed the League. Ra’s won’t just let me wander around the compound this time. I’ll be an actual prisoner.” Tim swallowed, and his eyes dipped down to stare at the ground. His voice was quiet. "You weren't there at the end Pru…” He shook his head, his words falling away.

His eyes left the ground and met hers. They hardened. “You owe me for your life. Twice over.”

Pru was silent for a moment. Her eyes shifted again to where Jason was crouched behind the truck. She ignored the gun that he had levelled at her. The two ninja stood flanking her, quiet as ever. “Who’ve you got with you, then?” she asked.

Tim glanced back at Jason. “That’s Jason. He’s…” Tim trailed off, his expression faltering. He seemed to come to a decision before sighing tiredly and shifting one shoulder into a small shrug. “He’s my brother,” he said simply.

_ Any one of you is more important than this stupid cowl. _

_ You can come, too, you know. Home. _

_ He’s my brother. _

Jason grit his teeth and ignored the comment.

Pru looked thoughtfully at Jason. “Todd, yeah? Red Helmet, or whatever?”

“Hood,” Jason grunted, annoyed.

Pru smirked, then clicked her tongue, pretending she had just realized something. “You kill people, yeah, Hoody? Shoot ‘em with those nice big guns o’ yours?”

Jason didn’t answer. She was up to something and he wasn’t about to take the bait.

Her smirk didn’t waver when he ignored her. In fact, her smile widened. “You’re Tim’s brother, so you’d do anything to protect him, wouldn’t you?” When Jason didn’t answer, she clucked her tongue impatiently. “Well?”

Jason thought about it. That’s what he was doing here, right? Trekking halfway across the globe, damn near about to take on some League Assassins. He’d dropped everything and got on a plane because Dick had called. Because Tim needed his help.

For fuck’s sake.

He was definitely going to sort out all this shit in his head later.

“Yeah,” he responded reluctantly, drawing out the word a bit longer than necessary, punctuating it with a sigh of his own. “Guess so.” He purposefully did not glance over to gauge Tim’s reaction.

He also did not lower his gun.

Pru nodded, satisfied. Then she moved, faster than Jason would have expected. Almost before he could blink, she’d put a bullet in each of the men at her side. The ninja went down without so much as a gasp. Dead before they hit the ground.

Tim reeled back, and Jason’s finger tightened on the trigger in surprise. His response felt sluggish compared to the speed Pru had just exhibited. She put her gun back in its holster lazily and plopped her hands on her hips, surveying her work.

Holy shit. He’d underestimated the skinny, smart-mouthed brit. She really was with the League. If she had wanted to shoot Jason, she definitely would have done it before he could have even thought of defending himself.

“Right, then,” she said brightly. “I’ll be blaming these two on you, if that’s all the same to you.  _ Convenient, _ your being here,” she said with a cryptic wink. “Was waiting for a good excuse for letting Tim go without getting myself done in for treachery. Thanks for that.”

Wait, what was  _ that _ about? Had she somehow  _ known _ Jason would be here?

Yeah.  _ Definitely _ a problem for later.

She stomped over to Tim and looked him up and down again. He’d recovered from the surprise and stood before her, still mostly steady on his feet. Mostly.

Pru shook her head disapprovingly and reached out to gently thread the white hair through her fingers. She looked over at Jason. “You gonna take care of him? He’s obviously done a shit job of it himself.”

God, how had Jason gotten so in over his head?

She wasn’t wrong. Tim obviously couldn’t take care of himself right now. And he...didn’t really have anyone, did he? Parents dead, adoptive dad dead (or...not dead, apparently, but not  _ here, _ either), estranged from his adoptive brother. Didn’t he have friends? He’d been with the Titans, right? Why weren’t they here? Why hadn’t they come looking for him after half a year?

Jason had tried to kill this kid. More than once. But...that had mostly been the Lazarus rage. He doubted Tim would ever really forgive him, but...he felt a twinge of...something. Hope?

_ That’s Jason. He’s my brother. _

Jason had been an only child growing up. He’d been alone, starving in the streets. He couldn’t say he’d never wished for some mysterious distant family members to swoop in and take him away. He’d needed someone like that, once.

(Maybe still did.)

Goddammit.

Brothers, huh?

“Yeah,” he said. “Guess I have to, don’t I?”

Pru grinned slyly. “Right, then.” She turned her attention back to Tim. She put a hand on his shoulder and took a long look at his face. “Be good for Helmet Head, yeah?” She was still smiling, but she couldn’t hide a small sniffle. “Gonna…” She cleared her throat. “Gonna miss our Thursday drinks.”

Tim’s chest heaved and he leaned forward, resting his whole weight against Pru as she wrapped him in a hug. “Yeah,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “Gonna miss you, too.”

Pru sniffed one more time and broke the hug, wiping her face. “All right, you two. Off you go. I’ve got a mess to make here. Gotta make this look good, yeah?”

Tim’s face paled a bit more as he finally seemed to take in the bloody scene before them, but his expression smoothed out as he visibly shut himself off from it. Jason wondered what had happened to the kid that he’d gone from preaching Batman’s puritanical no-killing bullshit to hugging an assassin over two freshly dead bodies.

Jason finally straightened, holstering his gun and stepping out from the cover of the truck.

“Time to go,” he said. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Tim turned and walked away from his friend and the bodies in the dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to stick with a chapter every 5 days, when I can. Tentative chapter count is 10. Been struggling a bit with this one, but I won't leave y'all hanging. Chapter 5 will be the longest so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission crashes and burns...literally.

The “flight” turned out to be a small, single engine, two-seater. It was sleek and silver, and...not exactly the Batplane.

Jason drove the truck right out onto the tarmac and when they stepped out of it, Tim looked around. The little silver plane was the only one on the runway.

“Did you come from Gotham in  _ this?” _ It wasn’t that the plane didn’t look sturdy—it was well-built, and definitely Wayne Tech, but a single engine plane would take  _ days _ to reach Gotham. And that wasn’t even taking fuel capacity into account.

“It’s modified, obviously,” Jason said, following Tim’s train of thought. “Doesn’t run on normal fuel. And it’s fast. Still takes a lot longer to get to Gotham than in a jet, but it’s inconspicuous. This retrieval mission needed to be under the radar. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing the Batplane, considering that we didn't know what you might have gotten yourself into over here. We weren’t even sure if I’d be picking up Red Robin or Tim Drake. Or is it Tim Wayne?” he mused. “Drake-Wayne?”

Tim wasn’t sure he was any of those things anymore.

They climbed into the plane (Tim somewhat humiliated when Jason had to all but completely haul him up) and strapped in, Jason piloting in the front, and Tim seated directly behind him. The small plane was a little claustrophobic, but that didn’t really bother Tim.  _ He _ wasn’t the one who’d had to claw out of his own grave. He settled in while Jason did his pre-flight checks, gazing absently out the window.

After several long minutes Tim began to squirm impatiently in his seat, an odd trickle of energy worming its way into his body and cutting into the bone-weariness. His cloak was suddenly starting to feel stifling. The cloth itched where the hood rubbed against his neck.

“Why did you come?” He asked suddenly, his voice interrupting the obnoxious clicking sounds of Jason fiddling with the controls.

Jason’s hands stilled and he half turned to look at Tim. “What?”

“You heard me.” Tim  _ hated _ repeating himself. He was  _ always _ having to repeat himself. Always having to dumb things down for other people. Why couldn’t everyone just be  _ smarter? _

Jason turned all the way around in his seat, his expression cautious. Tim realized distantly that he could feel his breaths starting to come a little too quickly.

“Kid—”

_ “Stop _ calling me that. You aren’t that much older than me.” Five years. Jason was only  _ five years _ older. What gave him the right to be so  _ patronizing? _ “Why are you here, Jason? You hate us. You tried to kill me.”  _ Tried, _ being the operative word.  _ “More than once. _ What is this? Why are you suddenly pretending to care? Why did you say those things to Pru? About taking care of me?” Like  _ he _ needed taking care of. He’d  _ lead _ the League of Assassins. He’d fought the entire Council of Spiders  _ alone _ and survived. He’d almost defeated Ra’s’ entire empire with one button press. Next time he would be successful. Timothy Drake-Wayne didn’t need  _ taking care of, _ no matter  _ what _ anyone else seemed to think.

“Ki— _ Tim. _ I don’t hate you.  _ Any _ of you. I...This isn’t really a good place to talk about it. But I don’t hate you. I’m  _ sorry, _ okay? For...everything. I won’t make excuses. I’m just...sorry. If you never want to see me again when we’re back in Gotham, then...okay. But right now I’m taking you home. That’s all that matters. Just...try to slow your breathing, okay? It helps.”

As Jason spoke, the green receded slowly. Tim hadn’t even realized it had begun to creep in. His harsh breathing finally hit his ears and he placed a hand on his chest, pushing on it like he could physically force his chest to slow. After a few minutes he was finally able to gain a little control. The angry, egotistical compulsive thoughts began to quiet. He slumped back into his seat.

“Shit,” he put his face in his hands and his voice came out muffled. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t even mean that. It just...sometimes it just happens for no reason.”

Jason shrugged. “I get it. You don’t have to apologize.”

Tim looked up. “You do, don’t you? You’re probably the only person other than Ra’s who really does.” Tim was silent for a while, concentrating on his breathing, his anxious thoughts whirring. “Were you serious, before?”

“Hm?”

“In the truck, before, you said...you said we’d talk later. Can we? When we’re home. I think...I need to talk to someone.”

Jason opened his mouth and closed it. He thought for a minute before speaking. “I don’t know that I’m the person you’re looking for, Timbo. I’m not the best at handling things, myself, in case you haven’t noticed. Might do more harm than good.”

Tim tried not to let his shoulders fall in disappointment. “Oh. Okay.”

Jason shook his head. “Jesus. I’m not saying no. Of course we can talk, if you want. I’m just warning you, is all.”

Tim nodded. “Consider me warned.”

Jason snorted. He turned back to the controls. “We’ll fly at normal speed until we’re over the ocean and off radar. Once we can’t be detected, I’ll show you what this baby can really do.” 

Pre-flight checks finished, he pressed a button and the engine rumbled to life. Tim slipped the noise-cancelling radio headset that Jason tossed him over his ears and everything went quiet.

Soon, they were off the ground, Qurac falling away beneath them like a bad dream.

—— 

Despite the uncomfortable vibrations from the engine, Tim managed to fall asleep not long after they were in the air.

—— 

Jason was yelling his name. Tim woke with a start. There were alarm sounds so loud he could hear them despite the headset. Frantic beeping.

He saw the slightest bit of movement out of the corner of his eye, outside of the plane, and then— 

——

Jason was calling his name. Tim woke with a start. He immediately regretted the movement. His whole body protested. His vision was blurry. There was a warm, stinging liquid in his eyes.

“—move, okay? I’m coming to you? Do you hear me? Tim?”

“Wha? J’son?”

“Tim. Listen to me. Do  _ not _ move a muscle. Stay right where you are. I’m coming to you. Do you understand me?”

“Hnn. Mhm.”

“Use your words, kid.”

“Don’ call me kid.”

“I take it back, shut up. And don’t move, okay? You could have a spinal injury.”

“Nn. Not arguing with that.”

Tim blinked some of the...yeah, that was blood...out of his eyes and his vision cleared and—oh. He was still strapped into his seat, but he was definitely no longer in the plane.

Which was good, because there no longer  _ was _ a plane.

He stared at the burning wreckage in the distance. Twisted silver metal. Smoke. Flames.

He turned his head— 

“I  _ said _ don’t  _ move.” _

—and looked around. They had landed on the desert floor. Jason was a few dozen yards away, cutting himself out of his own seat. It had landed on its side and Jason was struggling to maneuver at such an awkward angle. A big yellow parachute fanned out around him, trailing from the lines attached to the seat. Tim’s seat had somehow miraculously landed upright. He couldn’t twist around far enough to see, but he guessed there was a matching parachute behind him. Chunks of scorched metal and various machine parts lay scattered around them.

“You know, the air force permanently grounds its pilots after their second ejection because of the damage it does to the body?” Tim heard himself mumbling. “Average ejection speed is 200G. Can permanently compress the spine. Ugh. I’m alr’dy short enough.”

Jason had managed to disentangle himself from the seat and parachute and was slowly pushing himself to a wobbly stand. He groaned as he straightened up and stretched, wincing. “Wayne Tech’s a bit more advanced than the air force, kid. You’d know that if you weren’t concussed. These seats absorb the shock better. Counteract the ejection force some. Still hurts like a bitch,” he grunted.

“Nn,” Tim agreed. He blinked a few times and suddenly Jason was crouched in front of him, probing at his head. Tim hissed and tried to smack his hand away, but Jason absently parried him.

“Not even a bump,” he said after his examination. “Just a nasty cut, probably caught a piece of shrapnel. How you feeling? Nauseous? Dizzy?”

“No, I don’t think I have a concussion. Just...ouch.”

Jason grunted and started methodically checking the rest of Tim's body for injuries. “Agreed. Anything hurt worse than the rest of you? Anything numb? Tingly?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m okay. Get me out of this chair.”

Jason pulled out a knife and cut Tim’s straps. He hissed at the release of pressure from his shoulders and chest. Holy shit was he gonna have some bruises later.

He eyed Jason. “What about you?” The bastard was still wearing his helmet and armor. His helmet was a bit busted, but he probably didn’t feel nearly as shitty as Tim.

Jason took the helmet off, wincing as he rubbed at a bruise that was already forming on the side of his head at the spot where the helmet had broken. “Fine, I think. Gonna wish I was dead again tomorrow, but I’ll live.”

“What  _ happened?” _

“Missile.”

Tim saw green. “Ra’s,” he growled.

——

Jason saw the immediate change in the kid’s body language. His muscles tensed, his face twisted, and Jason reacted just in time. He dropped his helmet and lunged forward, jamming his forearm into Tim’s chest and pressed him back into the seat. The kid growled and tried to break Jason’s hold. His brain may not have been completely on board, but nothing beat muscle memory. Even as weak as he was, he could put up a good fight. He twisted and lashed out, and Jason barely managed to keep his hold and dodge the kid’s blows at the same time. He wished, belatedly, that he had waited to cut Tim’s seat belt.

They struggled for several long minutes before Tim managed to snap a fist into Jason’s nose. There was a sick crunch and Jason’s face exploded into pain. Hot blood gushed into his open mouth and he spat and cursed.

“Enough,” he growled. “Sorry, kid.”

He threw an elbow at the side of Tim’s head.

It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out. Jason wasn’t an idiot—the last thing they wanted to deal with, stranded in the middle of the desert, was a concussion or a brain bleed. But it was enough to stun the kid just long enough for Jason to release his hold and twist around so that he was repositioned behind Tim’s seat. He wrapped an arm around Tim’s neck just as Tim began to recover and started to struggle again, but Jason was stronger and Tim’s struggles were in vain. Jason squeezed, his muscles constricting the carotid arteries on each side of Tim’s neck. As the flow of blood to his brain ceased, Tim’s struggles died and he finally slumped, going limp in Jason’s arms. The second he was out, Jason released his hold and eased Tim to the ground. He turned him on his side and checked his breathing. Tim’s chest rose and fell normally, his eyes already fluttering.

Jason crouched next to Tim and settled back onto his heels. After a few seconds, Tim stirred and his eyes blinked open. 

Jason was pretty sure he’d spent more of this trip with Tim unconscious than conscious. Not a great start to this new big brother thing.

The second Tim’s brain kicked back online he gasped and pushed himself up into a crouch. He scrambled back from Jason and took in his appearance. He started when he saw the blood. “Shit. Jason, I’m sorry.”

Jason winced and resisted the urge to reach up and poke at his nose. He knew from experience that he did  _ not _ want to touch it.

“Don’ worry about it,” he gurgled nasally. He did not suddenly sound like that orange-haired kid from Rugrats.  _ Did not. _ “I’be had worse.”

Tim fell back onto his butt and drew his knees up. He bent forward and rested his forehead against them. “God. My life is a mess.”

Jason  _ almost _ snorted, and just barely caught himself in time. That would have  _ hurt. _ “Welcome to the party,” he said dryly.

Tim’s head shot up and his eyes locked onto Jason. His expression was anguished, but it turned more probing, curious. Jason grew increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny and stood up, shaking it off.

“So,” he said, reaching up and  _ very gingerly _ wiping away some of the blood that was running over his mouth and down his chin. “That crash should have sent all kinds of signals to the Cave and to Oracle, so I don’t think we’ll have to hump our way out of here. Just have to sit back and wait for Di—uh. Extraction.” Shit. Dick was definitely going to come pick them up himself. And he wouldn’t leave Damian alone, so he’d be coming along too, probably. That wasn’t going to end well.

Tim seemed to realize this too and his shoulders slumped. He returned to his forehead-to-knees position and went quiet. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, all right? We’ll figure it out.” He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. To be honest, he was better with kids—or Bizarro. They were easier to convince. But Tim, despite the nickname, despite his age, wasn’t a kid. Hadn’t been for a long time. He was smart enough to know better.

Even so. Everyone needed to be reassured sometimes. It helped.

Even if it was probably a lie.

—— 

Tim didn’t sleep. He wanted to,  _ god _ he wanted to. It had been...weeks?  _ (Took me a bloody  _ month _ to track your arse to this sand pit.) _ Since he’d slept more than a couple of fitful hours a time. Since he’d escaped from Ra’s. 

Since  _ she’d _ helped him escape.

_ My father is selfish. Greedy. He cares only for himself and for his goals. I do not care for his plans for you. My son will need you. He will need the support of his brothers when he takes the mantle of the bat. Go. Finish your quest to find my beloved. Bring my son’s father back to him. _

Weeks, he had wandered from village to village. Aimless. Uncertain. He had the proof he needed. He should find a way to contact the JLA. Give them everything he’d found. Bring Bruce home.

His mind had been foggy those first few days, still reeling from the pit. He’d been lost in senseless fits of rage more times than he could count. So badly that he often blacked out, coming to his senses lost in unfamiliar places, uncertain of what he might have done.

So he’d stayed away from people at first.

But the hunger that gnawed at his stomach had grown sharper and more desperate as time passed. It helped clear his mind some, and the rages became fewer and further between. Less often random. Eventually they seemed to mostly only happen when triggered by actual anger, not just on their own with no reason. So Tim had risked venturing into civilization.

But it had been for nothing.

The locals seemed to sense that there was something wrong with Tim. It wasn’t just that he was a dirty, lost foreigner. There was something in their faces when they looked at him. No one would speak to him. No one would help him. Eventually, he grew frustrated and angry. He stole food where he could, but it was difficult when he couldn’t risk going into the markets. There were too many judgemental eyes there, and that triggered the green.

So he starved. And wandered.

He needed to save Bruce. Needed to tell the Justice League.

All he had to do was find a phone. Just for a minute.

But something stopped him.

Shame?  _ Vanity? _

He didn’t want to be found like this. Didn’t want them to see the white. His mark of failure. His weakness. He couldn’t let anyone see him weak.  _ No one _ could see— 

But that was stupid. That was something else talking. Tim had never cared about things like that. That was...were those thoughts the pit? Vanity? Egotism?

No,  _ stop. _ Nothing mattered except saving Bruce. Tim didn’t matter.

So he found a phone. 

And he sent everything he had to Booster Gold. Not Dick, not Oracle, not the JLA. Because any of them might have come for Tim first, and Bruce couldn’t afford that distraction. Booster Gold had a time machine. He could find Bruce. 

So he sent the message, tossed the phone, and…

Then he was done. There was nothing left to do—he’d completed his mission. He had died too soon. Died before he could save Bruce. And then he’d been given extra time. He’d come back for one purpose, and he’d fulfilled that purpose. There was nothing left for him now.

And eventually, he just...lost track of time. Lost in a haze of hunger and fatigue.

And then, out of nowhere, Jason had appeared.

And Tim was just too tired to resist.

So he let Jason drag him around and now they were  _ both _ going to die. Again.

Jason had dragged the two plane seats over to a nearby boulder and strung the parachutes up in a makeshift shade tent. Tim sat sprawled in one of the seats, lackluster, eyes unfocused off in the distance. Jason was off somewhere to the side cleaning the sand out of his guns and tinkering with his busted helmet, cursing at the damaged comms. He’d lost his phone somewhere between being in the plane, “rocketing through the atmosphere with nothing between him and the sky”, and crashing to the desert floor “in a glorified booster seat.” His words.

So they were waiting for Dick. Jason promised that Dick was coming.

But Tim had noticed a plume of dust in the distance a while ago. A single vehicle, from what he could tell. He didn’t think Jason had noticed yet. He could have pointed it out. Should tell him. But what was the point? Ra’s had shot them down and now he was sending his people to retrieve them. Tim would be no help, and Jason couldn’t stop them on his own. Ra’s could bring the whole League down on them if he wanted. They were in no position to stop him.

Maybe Tim could negotiate. Get them to let Jason go.

Maybe it was all pointless.

He remembered telling Pru he wasn’t going back. He’d been so adamant at the time. Why had he even bothered to resist? He couldn’t remember. He should have just gone with Pru then. Why had she let him go?  _ She _ had to know that it was pointless, too.

Tim stood up and went to meet his fate.

—— 

Jason was probing the busted comm in his helmet with a pair of tweezers, focusing so intently that it took him a moment to notice that Tim had pushed himself out of his seat and was stumbling out of the shaded area that Jason had put together. 

“Kid? Got somewhere to be?”

Tim didn’t look...right. His face was blank, his movements sluggish. He gestured dully at something in the distance. “We can’t fight them,” he said, tone muted. “I’ll try to talk them into letting you go. They just want me.”

Jason looked up in alarm to where Tim had gestured. A plume of dust in the distance, growing larger. The League. Shit. Shit shit shit. Of course they’d be coming. They hadn’t shot down the plane for fun.

“The  _ hell _ we can’t fight them. Get behind the boulder. I can hold them off until Dick comes. The Batplane is fast. It can make it here from Gotham in three hours. It’s already been that long. He should be here any minute.”

Tim shook his head and kept walking forward. Why? The Tim before him now was a far cry from the Tim that had stood defiant in front of Pru only hours before, refusing to go back to Ra’s. Why was he suddenly…

Oh. Jason knew what this was.

“Tim,” he said, standing slowly. “You don’t want to do this. You’re not thinking straight right now. You’re crashing. It used to happen to me sometimes, too. Emotional burnout. It’s just brain chemicals, kid. Don’t let it get to you. You’ll level out eventually, you just gotta ride it out. Tim? You hearin’ me?”

Tim stopped walking and turned to stare listlessly at Jason. “There’s no point, Jason. Ra’s is stronger than me. Than us. I tried to fight him and look what it got me.” 

“C’mon, Timmers. Since when are you too scared to fight? Use your  _ logic, _ it’s what you do.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m not scared. I can’t fight them. They’ll kill you. Either I go with them and they let you live, or you can fight and die.”

“Wrong. C’mon, Mr. Tactician. How many of them could there possibly be in one vehicle? You forget I trained with the League. I’ve trained with  _ better _ than the League. Don’t underestimate me. I can handle them. I’ve kicked  _ your _ ass more than once. At the very least I can hold them off, then we  _ both _ live, and you don’t get captured—more desirable outcome, right?”

“What if it’s Ra’s? In the car. What if he’s come to take me himself.”

“Well, then...yeah, if it’s Ra’s, we’re fucked. But we need to wait and see before we make any drastic decisions. So you hide until we know. If it’s Ra’s,  _ then _ you can negotiate. Let him take you and then when Dick gets here we’ll come save your ass. That makes the most logical sense, right?”

Tim frowned. “Not really.”

Jason growled in frustration and stomped forward. Tim didn’t resist when Jason grabbed him by his hood and dragged him behind the boulder. He pushed him down onto the ground and pointed a stern finger. “Done arguing. Sit. Stay. If you so much as  _ think _ about coming out from behind here before I say so, I swear to god I will knock your ass out, capisce?”

Tim shrugged and Jason rolled his eyes, exasperated.

He jammed his broken helmet on his head and prepared to meet the League.

—— 

Jason hadn’t been wrong, he was definitely not outmatched. Ra’s had sent eight of his faceless ninja, and they didn’t seem to be particularly high ranking. They were skilled, but it wasn’t exactly like fighting Lady Shiva.

It was a little insulting, to be honest.

Still, it  _ was _ eight to one, and these weren’t some low-level Gotham thugs. 

Tim, so far, thankfully, seemed to be going along with Jason’s stay-behind-the-damn-boulder-while-I-take-care-of-this plan, and Jason hadn’t heard a peep from him since the ninja had poured out of their truck.

Jason was holding his own, he’d taken out four of the eight, but he was tiring. Turns out that ejecting from a plane at 10,000 feet can really take it out of you.

He took another ninja out and overextended a bit, causing him to stumble. It was a small misstep, but one of the ninja took advantage of his momentary lapse in balance and he caught a fist to the face. The full force of the blow smashed into his already-broken nose and his vision whited out with pain. He ducked, blindly, instinctively, and felt a blade whistle over his head. He blinked, forcing through the pain, and his vision cleared. But it was a second too late and he caught a kick to the gut, and another to the knee. His leg buckled beneath him and the backwards momentum from the gut kick took him down. He tried to twist, tried to turn himself around so that instead of landing on his back, he could land chest-forward so that he could roll into the fall and come back up on his feet.

But mid-twist, he took a kick to the head—a hard, skull-cracking hit—and that was it.

The kick didn’t knock him out—had he not been wearing his helmet, it would have—but it knocked him out of his senses for a few seconds. A few seconds was too long.

Or it should have been.

When the world started to piece itself back together and he could make sense of things again, Jason was surprised to find that he wasn’t dead. One of the ninja was poised over him, sword raised to strike a final blow, when twin knives suddenly sprang from both of the ninja’s shoulders, just below his clavicles. The ninja cried out and dropped the sword. He fell back and the two remaining ninja took his place.

By then, Jason had recovered enough to manage to pull a gun from its holster and take them out at the kneecaps each in quick succession. 

When the last of the ninja was down, Jason dropped his gun and fell back onto the ground, breathing heavily. He pulled his useless helmet off and tossed it aside. He’d brought an older, less reinforced model on this trip and was definitely regretting it. He stared up at the sky, watching it spin lazily above him. His head throbbed in time with his thundering heartbeat.

He felt hands on his hair and blinked his eyes open. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Tim was hovering over him, checking his head.

“Than’s for the assist, kid,” he said. Well...slurred.

“That was stupid,” Tim said, something off in his voice. Concern, maybe?

“Nah, I totally, had ‘em. See? Everythin’s fine.”

“We’re not dead, at least. You were right,” Tim said quietly. “Thanks. Sorry for...just. Sorry.”

“Don’ sweat it.” Jason winced and closed his eyes. Nausea was starting to boil up in his stomach. “Has the sun always been that damn bright?”

A roaring sound filled his ears and for a minute he thought it was the sound of his own blood pumping, but he felt a strong wind begin to stir and opened his eyes. A large black plane was landing several dozen yards away, lowering itself to the earth like something out of science fiction. Only one plane he knew of could land like that.

“Late to the party, as usual,” Jason complained drunkenly when the bay door opened and a ramp dropped to the ground. “Is that some kind of curse that comes with the cowl? Always showing up too late? I thought it was jus’ Bruce.”

“Names,” Dick chastised in Batman’s low growl.

Jason waved...er, flopped...a hand in the direction of the pile of moaning League goons. “Ra’s is pro’ly gonna kill these assholes for failing him, anyway, ‘snot like they care.”

Dick came into view, crouching next to Jason. “You look like crap. Anything broken?”

Jason groaned. “Jus’ my nose. Maybe my brain.”

“Hnn. You’re gonna need a CT scan for that head.”

“Did you just ‘hnn’? Jesus, that’s uncanny. It’s just us, stop using the Bat voice, it’s creepy.”

Dick snorted in a very Dick-like way. “Sorry. Habit.” He looked around inquisitively. “Where’s Tim? I thought you said he was with you.”

Jason lifted his head and looked around blearily. “Huh? Where’d he...oh.”

Tim was nowhere in sight. There was only one place for him to be. “Uh, he’s...hey, where’s the Demon Brat? Thought you couldn’t let him out of your sight.”

“I left him with Alfred. The way you were talking, I figured it would probably be a bad idea to bring him along. He should be fine for a few hours, I just don’t like leaving him alone longer than that. There’s only so much damage he can do in half a day. I hope.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Wouldn’t have taken you or me too long to stir up some fun when we were his age. Help me up, will ya?”

Dick put a hand under Jason’s back and, between the two of them, they managed to get Jason standing. The world spun nauseatingly and he had to try his damndest not to puke. He leaned heavily on Dick until he felt steady. He took a minute to gather his thoughts. It felt like they were starting to melt out of his ears. He took a breath and then spit them all out at once before he lost them. “Listen, Dick. I know there’s som...something in your DNA that makes it impossible for you not to fret over people, but you have to do me a favor. I need you to go back to the plane and stay in the cock...pit. I’m gonna get...Tim, I’m gonna bring him on the plane, and you’re not gonna see him, ‘kay? When we get to the Cave, he’s gonna get off the plane, I’m gonna take him home with me, and you’re gonna stay in the cockpit until we’re gone. And I need you to m...make sure Damian isn’t there when we land.” He let out the breath he’d sucked in. Talking was...ugh.

Dick stared at him for a moment, and Jason could practically see the puppy-dog hurt in his eyes even behind the cowl. It was disconcerting in that costume. “Does he hate me that much?”

Jason shook his head and immediately regretted it when it set the world spinning again. “He doesn’t hate you. Try not to take it too personally, okay? He’s just...not in a good place right now.”

“What does that  _ mean, _ Jason? What are you not telling me?”

“It’s not my place to tell you, Dick. Tha’s...up to him. And he doesn’t want to see you right now, I’m sorry.”

Dick huffed. “And  _ you’re _ going to take care of him?”

Dick’s tone wasn’t confrontational. He didn’t mean it as an accusation, more as an expression of concern, protectiveness. Even if he  _ had _ said it accusingly, it wouldn’t have been unwarranted. Jason’s track record wasn’t exactly squeaky clean.

Still, it stung. But he deserved it.

“Yeah, Dicky. There’s some scary assassin chick that I think would eat my tongue in an English breakfast if I didn’t. The kid sure knows how to pick friends.”

Dick nodded. “Okay. Where do we need to pick him up?”

Oh. Awkward. “Uh, we don’t. He’s here. He’s hiding behind that rock.” Jason hooked a thumb toward the boulder without looking at it.

Dick’s face fell. “He’s  _ hiding _ from me?” His voice was almost a whine.

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. It only took him two tries to do it without missing. “Go to the plane. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Maybe I should go get him, I really don’t think you should even be standing right now.”

Jason waved him off and Dick left to pout. Jason limped to the boulder. Tim was sitting behind it, his back pressed against the rock, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them. His hood hid his face. He didn’t look up when Jason rounded the corner.

Jason plopped down next to him. He leaned back against the rock with a tired groan. He bumped his shoulder against Tim’s and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I can see how you might confuse the two, what with the geelo...geo...geological similarities, but this big rock ain’t the Cave. Only one of ‘em is home, and this one ain’t it. You ready to go?”

Tim looked at Jason out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn. “Thought you said I didn’t have to go back to the Cave?” His voice was monotone, beyond tired.

“Well, we gotta land there, but you don’t have to stay. After we land I’ll take you to my place.”

Tim turned more fully, looking Jason square in the face. He studied him for a minute before nodding slightly, conceding. “Okay.” He struggled to his feet, taking longer than he should have, and reached a hand down for Jason. They both almost toppled as Jason heaved himself up.

“Where  _ do _ you live, anyway?” Tim asked as they both made their way to the plane, leaning on each other for support.

“You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! I've reached the point where I don't have much more written ahead. That tends to happen when I write linearly, which I have to do in order to post in a timely manner. Also I've been reading Invincible and it's GOT ME. I'll spend more time writing now that this chapter is posted, though, promise.
> 
> I also promise that Tim will be conscious more often soon. Er...mostly. He's tired, okay?
> 
> Also please leave a comment if you're enjoying this story! Your feedback is why I post these instead of just keeping them all to myself. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim sleeps. And *eats*. And...wait. Where's Bruce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Serious* comic spoilers in this chapter. See work tags.

Dick, surprisingly, seemed to take Jason’s request seriously and stayed in the cockpit out of sight. The inside of the Batplane was large and there were several rooms, one of which was the medbay. Tim helped Jason into the portable CT machine. The scans were clean, no brain bleeds, but he definitely had a concussion. He was pretty out of it by the time the scans were done; he’d already puked twice, and his light sensitivity had gotten worse. Tim helped him onto a cot in the medbay with a puke bucket, pain and nausea meds, ice for his swollen knee, and a cloth to cover his eyes. Jason mumbled some half-coherent protests about Tim needing more looking after than him, but Tim ignored him, dimmed the lights in the room and left him to sleep it off.

Once he had Jason taken care of, Tim stood in the hallway outside of the medbay. He stood in the quiet, the hum of the engines vibrating gently beneath his feet. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He desperately needed to sleep, but he was too keyed up, anxiety thrumming through his veins. He was afraid that Dick was going to round the corner any second.

He knew Dick was probably watching him on the security cameras that were scattered all over the plane. He’d kept his hood up since they’d boarded.

He’d been standing there for far too long when he heard footsteps.

Tim’s heart leapt into his throat and he darted through the closest doorway, slamming the door behind him and locking it. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. The footsteps neared the door and stopped.

Dick didn’t knock. “Tim?” he called through the door. “Look, I’m sorry, I know Jason said you didn’t want to see me. I’ll go away if you ask, I promise. I just wanted to check on you. I know Jason’s out so I wanted to make sure you were okay in here by yourself. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Tim sank to the floor, his back pressed against the door. The green filled his vision more and more with every frantic heartbeat. “Go away,” he managed to croak. His voice sounded strangled.

“I...Tim are you sure you’re not hurt? You don’t sound okay.”

He  _ wasn’t _ okay. Of  _ course _ he wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay for...a long time. But Dick had never cared about that before. What,  _ now _ he was suddenly going to play the compassionate, caring big brother? After he’d treated Tim like he was crazy? After he’d  _ taken _ Robin from him? Given it to that  _ psycho _ of a kid?  _ Ra’s’ _ grandson, of  _ all _ people?

“I’m fine,” Tim gasped, trying to push those thoughts down. “Dick,  _ please _ .” He didn’t want to hurt Dick. But he  _ did _ want to. Dick  _ deserved _ it for what he’d done to Tim.

“Okay. I’ll go. Just...I’m sorry, okay? For  _ everything, _ Tim.”

Whatever else Dick said, Tim didn’t hear it. A buzzing sound filled his ears and the world went green. He didn’t black out—he was aware of his surroundings. He could have stood up, opened the door and  _ ripped Dick’s face off _ right then and there, but he was just too weak, too exhausted. He barely had the energy to move anymore, even with the green roaring through his veins. So he stayed where he was, crouched against the door, sweating and shaking.

Tim lost track of time, but eventually the green receded. He gasped in relief when the tension left his muscles and let himself slump to the floor.

His body couldn’t take another second of consciousness. He curled up, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion take him under.

——

Jason woke to someone shaking him. He grabbed for the hand on his shoulder instinctively and gave the wrist a sharp twist.

Whoever it was hissed in pain and Jason felt a pinch in his arm. The whole appendage suddenly went numb and tingly and dropped limply to the bed. By the time he could react, his brain had caught up with his body and he realized he recognized the voice and that it wasn’t a threat.

“Geeze, Dickhead, you gotta know better than to wake a guy up like that, ‘specially in this line a’ work,” he mumbled, rubbing his face and sitting up. He shook his tingly arm out. “Who taught you the League of Assassins’ damn Vulcan nerve pinch? Youch.”

“Sorry.” Dick didn’t sound apologetic. He was standing over the cot, rubbing his wrist and wincing. He was still wearing the Batman costume, but the cowl was pulled back, hanging over his back like a hood. “You almost broke my wrist. Next time I’ll poke you with a long stick or something.”

“Up to me, there won’t  _ be _ a next time.” Jason swung his legs over the side of the cot. His head was still throbbing, but the sleep and the meds had helped immensely. He could string two thoughts together now, at least.

He looked around the medbay. Shit. Tim wasn’t anywhere in sight. He’d totally blown it. Jason had been in pretty bad shape when he and Tim had hauled each other onto the plane. He didn’t really remember much after puking the first time.

“Where’s the kid?”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and Jason glared at him. “He locked himself in the lavatory across the hall when I...um. Tried to talk to him.”

“You did  _ what?” _ The  _ idiot. _ He was lucky he was standing in front of Jason in one piece right now. The kid either had crazy good control or he’d been too exhausted to do any damage. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Dick shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he didn't need any medical attention since you were out. He just locked himself in and told me to go away. The Batplane has sensors that can read every passenger’s basic vitals. He seems fine. Heart rate and breathing suggest he's sleeping.

Jason let out of a breath of relief. Obviously Tim hadn’t had a major episode, and Dick wasn’t having a meltdown, so he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen Tim’s hair yet. “Where are we?”

“We just landed in the Cave.”

Jason nodded and levered himself off the cot. His head spun a little as he stood, but he didn't feel like puking, so that was a huge improvement. “Go make sure the coast is clear. No Alfred, no Batkids.  _ Especially _ no Demon Brat. You do  _ not _ want them around right now.”

Dick was shaking his head as Jason spoke, and Jason raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, annoyed. Dick crossed his arms. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Jason grit his teeth. “I told you, it’s not my business to tell. The  _ kid _ can tell you whatever he wants, and he doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” 

“I want to hear that from him.”

Jason could already see where this conversation was going.

“You just  _ did _ hear it from him, you dunce. Was the locked door not a clue?” He took a step forward. “What, you don’t trust me? You trusted me enough to send me halfway across the planet to find  _ your _ baby brother, Dick.” Jason poked Dick in the chest with a single finger. Hard.  _ “Make up your damn mind!” _

Dick knocked Jason’s hand away and took a step forward himself. They were almost nose to nose now. “I’m  _ trying _ to trust you, Jason, but you’re not making it easy. You’ve  _ never _ made it easy.” He gestured wildly. “How am I supposed to trust you when you won’t even tell me what’s going on!”

And  _ there _ it was.

_ Any one of you is more important than this stupid cowl. _

_ You can come, too, you know. Home. _

_ How am I supposed to trust you? _

Brothers. Yeah right.

“God, Dick, are you really this dense? How do you not understand that I’m  _ trying to protect _ Tim? Isn’t that what  _ you sent me _ to do?” And he’d dropped everything to come help. He was starting to regret that decision.

“I didn’t tell you to protect him from  _ me! _ How do  _ you _ not understand why that would make me suspicious? When have you  _ ever _ cared this much about him? About  _ any _ of us? I  _ never _ should have sent you to find him. You tried to kill him! What the hell was I  _ thinking?” _

Stab. Twist.

“When are you—” Jason stopped himself.  _ When are you going to stop hating me for that? It was the Lazarus pit, Dick. I needed  _ help  _ from my  _ family  _ and all I got was a cell in Arkham down the hall from the fucking Joker. I needed help like Tim needs help now. _ But he couldn’t make himself say all that. He didn’t trust his voice.

And he didn’t think he could take whatever Dick’s reaction would be.

Besides, it wasn’t entirely true. They _ had _ tried to help, in their own way. They just really sucked at it. Jason had a batarang scar on his throat to prove it.

And as much as he’d like to think that everything he did was the pit...it wasn’t. Not all of it. The green was so entrenched in him...he was never really sure where it ended and he began. Wasn’t sure how much of it had been Talia’s manipulative whispering in his ear and how much of it was just...Jason Todd, first class asshole, part-time psychotic.

He didn’t deserve Dick’s trust. He  _ knew _ he didn’t. But that didn’t mean he didn’t  _ want _ it. And it hurt like hell that Dick was trying to revoke it. When Jason had  _ finally _ thought…

“You know what,  _ fuck you, _ Dick. The kid’s coming with me. The only reason he even  _ agreed _ to come back is because I promised him that he wouldn’t have to come back to the Cave. And I don’t need your fucking  _ trust _ to take him out of here. You  _ don’t  _ want to make this into a fight, trust  _ that,” _ he spat.

Jason stormed past Dick, fighting the urge to knock him aside with a shoulder. Dick didn’t follow. Jason tried the door directly across the hall and guessed it was the correct one when he found it locked. He made quick work of picking the lock and pushed the door open. The door didn’t open fully, stopping when it bumped against something on the floor. Jason squeezed through the gap and stooped to inspect the lump at his feet.

Tim lay curled in a ball, huddled beneath his cloak. He stirred slightly when Jason crouched down and prodded him, but didn’t wake.

Jason scooped him up into his arms pulling the kid's arm around his neck and settling him so that he was propped upright against Jason’s chest, his head resting on Jason’s shoulder. The upright position kept the hood from falling off of his head and revealing his hair.

Tim stayed dead asleep.

Dick was nowhere in sight when Jason came back out into the hall. Jason guessed he had gone off somewhere to sulk. He was good at that.

Jason strode toward the exit, down the ramp, and into the Cave.

——

Standing at the bottom of the Batplane’s ramp was Damian al Ghul—Wayne, whatever—the Demon Brat himself, his arms crossed, signature scowl on his face and chin poking out haughtily. Jason cursed Dick for not clearing them a path, and at himself for storming off without clearing one himself first.

He growled and brushed past the boy, doing his best to completely ignore him.

Jason  _ knew _ deep down that the Brat was just a kid, and it wasn’t his  _ fault _ he’d been raised as a prince by the League of fucking Assassins and Ra’s and Talia al Ghul. It was unavoidable that he’d turned out the way he had. The little bastard didn’t know any better.

But damn if the obnoxious little asshole didn’t grate on Jason’s nerves.

Damian sputtered indignantly at Jason’s intentional disregard. Such a slight was unforgivable to him.

Jason didn’t care.

“Todd! Where is Grayson? Where are you taking Drake? I demand to know what is going on!”

“None of your business, half-pint.  _ Grayson _ is somewhere on the plane. Go bother him.”

Damian did a series of flips so fast that Jason didn’t even bother to track them. Suddenly the Demon Spawn was blocking his path, sword drawn and extended in Jason’s direction. “What have you done to Grayson? I will not let you abscond with Drake. He is  _ mine _ to defeat, and I will not have you challenging me. Have you done something to him, as well?”

Before Jason could stop him, Damian flicked the tip of his sword at Tim’s hood, knocking it off of his head. The cloth slid away, revealing Tim's hair.

The tip of Damian’s sword wavered, listing down as he stared in open-mouthed shock at the white streak in Tim’s hair. 

Jason snarled and yanked the hood back up.

He took a quick step towards Damian, knocking the sword away and moving into his space.

“If you so much as breathe a  _ word _ of this to Dick or  _ anyone _ else,  _ you’re _ going to be the one who needs the pit next.”

Damian’s mouth clapped shut with an audible click. The sword dropped to hang tip-down at his side. He looked at Jason, his expression serious. After a few beats, he nodded dazedly and stepped out of Jason’s way.

“You...have my word,” he said quietly.

Jason’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The kid  _ did _ possess at least a modicum of tact. Who knew? Jason huffed and stepped past Damian.

He marched to the Cave’s garage and loaded Tim into one of the many cars that were stored there. He slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.

Jason tore out of the Batcave and didn’t look back.

——

Tim woke up slowly. Later, that would surprise him. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t either jolted awake the second he’d realized he’d accidentally fallen asleep, or woken up green from a nightmare. His brain must have somehow known he was somewhere safe, somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone. It could have been olfactory—maybe his brain recognized that he was with Jason by scent, or the soft bed gave away that he was somewhere safe, rather than the hard-packed sandstone to which he’d become accustomed.

He wanted nothing more than to sink back into the dreamless sleep he’d been in and forget for a while, but his screaming bladder had other plans.

And he didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to sleep without nightmares twice in a row.

He sat up, pushing the soft down comforter away. The bed smelled like Jason, so Tim could only assume it was his. The idea of the Red Hood sleeping under a soft blue goose-down blanket didn’t quite mesh with the image Tim had of him. When Jason had said he’d take him to his place, Tim had expected a run down safe house somewhere in the Bowery or the Narrows. Wherever this was, it was far from that.

There was an en-suite bathroom, and Tim quickly made use of it. The door  _ whooshed _ open automatically when he approached it. The toilet and sink were oddly designed and it took him a few beats to figure out how to use them. Add to that the fact that the walls and floor were made of a strange metal that Tim didn’t recognize and he guessed that he wasn’t exactly in Kansas anymore.

He washed up a bit in the sink, purposefully ignoring the mirror. He made a quick judgement call that the water from the tap was safe and drank deeply from it. His normally impeccable internal clock had been thrown completely out of whack since he’d...so going by how dehydrated he felt, he guessed he had to have been asleep for a very long time.

Tim went back into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He sat for a while, staring at the door to the bedroom. He worried what lay on the other side of it. Literally and metaphorically.

Where did he go from here? He’d sent all of his work to Booster Gold. Everything he’d worked for these last six months. He’d done his part. He was finished now. Wasn’t he? The Justice League would find Bruce. They didn’t need Tim.

He wasn’t Robin anymore. Couldn’t be Red Robin now, either. Not with pit madness. He couldn’t be  _ any _ kind of vigilante. Nor could he be Tim Wayne. One gala and he’d probably rip the heads off of half of Gotham’s stuck-up elite. Hush had tried to drive Wayne Enterprises into the ground so Tim had taken it over for a while before his search for Bruce began. He imagined walking into a meeting as he was now. Heads rolled in the boardroom on a  _ good _ day. And plain old Tim Drake? He had died with his father. With a boomerang.

Which left him...where? Who was he now?

Before he could spiral too much further into his existential crisis, the door to the room  _ whooshed _ open and Jason stepped inside. He wore a green shirt and khaki cargo shorts. Tim suddenly realized that he couldn’t recall ever seeing Jason wearing something other than a costume in one form or another. He felt a twinge of guilt at the state of Jason’s face. Bandaged nose and two black eyes. Tim’s fault. The side of his head was bruised from the ninja’s kick.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I was coming in to either wake you up and pour some water into you or try to hook you up to a saline drip without getting myself killed. Glad you decided for me. How’re you feeling?”

“Are we on a spaceship?” Tim blurted out.

Jason raised an eyebrow, but didn’t miss a beat. “Tamaranean,” he confirmed. “Crash-landed.”

“Starfire,” Tim mused.

Jason nodded again. He spread his arms out wide. “Welcome to the Outlaws’ Secret Hideout. Well, sort of secret. Secret if you’re not Superman, or Green Arrow, or, well...welcome to the Outlaws’ Mostly Secret Hideout.”

“It’s nice. Not what I expected. Are any of them here?”

Jason’s face fell. It was barely noticeable if you didn’t know him.

“Ah, no. They’re not. Um. Long story.”

Tim  _ thought _ about not pushing. It was obviously a sore spot. And maybe it was selfish, but he was desperate for the distraction from his own thoughts. From the inevitable conversations they would be having.

“Not like I have anywhere to be. Wanna talk about it?”

Jason brought up a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you know Kory ran off to space. Biz and Artemis are missing. They got sucked through a collapsing quantum portal. Pretty sure they’re not dead, though. They’ll find their way back eventually. I’m not worried.”

He didn’t  _ sound _ not worried.

Tim couldn’t help but notice that Jason had left someone out.

“Roy?”

Jason walked over and dropped down on the bed next to Tim. He stared at his feet. 

“He died.”

Oh. Shit. Now Tim felt like an asshole.

“God, Jay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...What happened?”

Jason shrugged. “A stupid accident. All these years jumping head first into violence and Roy gets killed by  _ accident. _ By one of his  _ best friends. _ He’d probably think it was funny. He liked that kind of ironic bullshit.”

Tim put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and Jason shook his head as if to clear it. “Anway,” he said, his voice suddenly full of forced enthusiasm, “We aren’t here to talk about me. You avoided my question. How you feelin’?”

Tim let his hand drop back to the bed. It was his turn to shrug. He thought for a second, digging deep. The green was quiet for now. The bone-weary exhaustion had ebbed a bit. He could feel tiny sparks of emotion in his synapses, unlike before, after the plane crash. The cold, inhuman despondency he’d felt when the League found them seemed to have dissipated. He shuddered at the memory of that feeling, the numbing apathy that came from the burnout. He didn’t want to feel like that ever again.

“Tired,” he said finally.

Jason nodded. “I bet. You’re gonna need a lot more than the 20 hours you just got before you’re caught up. Think you’re ready to try eating?”

The idea of food made Tim’s stomach clench and his salivary glands burn. It wasn’t that he hadn’t eaten  _ at all _ in the last month, but a scrounged piece of half-rotten fruit picked out of the gutter every once in a while was hardly substantial. He was long passed feeling actual hunger. His entire abdomen was just a pit of hard, gnawing pain now. He was a little afraid of what food would even do to him at this point.

“I could eat.” He wrinkled his nose. “And shower.” He picked at his grungy League clothes. He hated them. Hated feeling like one of Ra’s’ loyal dogs. “And change.”

Jason nodded and stood up. He pointed to the en-suite bathroom. “There are towels in the cabinet. I’ll bring you some clothes. Roy’s are gonna be a bit big on you, but not as big as mine would be.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Kory’s might be the closest fit, but you’d probably be better off naked than  _ that, _ so.” He nodded. “Roy’s.”

—— 

Tim still didn’t feel anything close to okay after the shower, but he  _ did _ feel better. Jason had brought him a pair of Roy’s dark gray sweats, which fit loosely after he’d rolled them up at the waste and cinched them with the ties. The worn red (what else?) t-shirt fit much better, though a bit too long and too wide at the shoulders. He found a brush and managed to tame his tangled hair without looking at it in the mirror.

Jason hadn’t brought him any shoes, but he tossed the soft leather League boots he’d been wearing onto the pile with his other discarded clothes. He’d rather go barefoot than ever see those again.

Sufficiently groomed, he padded into the hallway outside of Jason’s room and followed the smell of food.

He found Jason in the...galley? It would be a galley on a spaceship, right? Jason stood over what Tim guessed was some kind of Tamaranean stove, stirring something in a regular Earth pot. Jason looked up when Tim entered the room.

“Hey. Much better,” he noted, glancing over Tim’s appearance. “Clothes fit pretty good.”

Tim nodded. He padded over to the small dining table and sat down. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Jason pointed to the pot he was stirring with his free hand. “Oatmeal. Figured something plain and bland would be best. We should probably talk to someone about getting you on some kind of food plan. You have to be careful about refeeding syndrome. I stopped on the way here and got some pedialyte and vitamins. You’ll have to take those before you can eat anything. Hypophosphatemia is the biggest risk with refeeding, apparently, but I managed to find some phosphate supplements.” He eyed Tim. “I’m not a doctor, though. You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? This kind of thing really should be done under medical supervision. If your electrolytes and stuff go all out of whack you could die. And we’re nowhere close to civilization, trust me. If your blood pressure spikes, your brain swells up, and you start seizing, there won’t be any help nearby.”

Tim reached up and fingered the white streak in his hair, remembering his earlier train of thought. Borrowed time. Already done what he came back to do.

He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this.

“No. No hospital. I’ll be fine. I trust you.”

Something flickered over Jason’s face, but he quickly smoothed it away. He set the spoon he was stirring with aside and walked over to the table, taking the seat across from Tim.

“Hey,” he said, voice serious. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but I might have some idea. Stop me if I’m wrong.

“You’re still alive. Right now, you’re breathing, your heart is pumping blood through your veins.  _ Red _ blood, not green. You’re not some walking ghost. You didn’t come back for some specific purpose that you have to fulfill. You came back because some crazy immortal asshole with a god complex took a liking to you and decided to play god. There isn’t some deeper meaning to it. You can do whatever you want now, Tim. You’re still you. Things are different, I’m not going to lie, I’m not going to sugar coat it. You’re different now. And you will be for a while, but you’re still you. You’re not some hollow revenant doomed to haunt the earth. You don’t have to act like one.”

Tim felt hot tears prick at his eyes. If it were anyone but Jason sitting across from him saying these things right now, he’d be angry.  _ How could you possibly know anything about it, _ he’d say. But it  _ was _ Jason. He’d gone through the same thing.

And looking at him now, he’d come out the other side of it. So maybe Tim should listen to him. Maybe he knew what he was talking about.

_ You’re not some walking ghost. You don’t have to act like it. _

But he didn’t know how to do that. Not yet.

“Okay. I’ll try,” he said quietly. He didn’t think he’d made it sound very believable.

Jason huffed a small sigh, and shook his head. “You don’t have to try. Not yet. I’m just planting the idea for when you’re ready.” He slapped the table lightly and pushed his chair back. “Okay. Vitamins. Pedialyte. Oatmeal. Comin’ up.”

Tim took his vitamins, grimaced at the taste of the pedialyte, and watched idly as Jason cooked the oatmeal.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked suddenly.

Jason turned slowly, a cautious look on his face. Tim cringed as the deja vu hit him and he realized what he’d just done. “Sorry. I’m not...having another episode. It’s not a leading question this time.”

Jason’s shoulders fell in visible relief and he went back to stirring. “Remember how I once said ‘I wasn’t always the nicest person in the world to you’? That was an understatement. Obviously. I’m not...trying to make up for everything, exactly. Can’t really make up for attempted murder, but...you didn’t deserve any of what I did to you. I guess maybe I  _ am _ trying to make up for it, but that makes it sound cheap. This isn’t just me trying to appease my conscience, I just...Dick called and said you needed help, so…” He shrugged. “We’re family. Or. I thought we were. Hope. Whatever, I just...I wanted to help.”

_ Family. _

Tim played with the word in his head. He remembered telling Pru that Jason was his brother. At the time, he’d searched for another way to explain who Jason was, but for some reason  _ brother _ was what his brain had settled on.

So. Okay. Yeah. They could try that.

——

The oatmeal took longer to cook than Jason expected. He’d never actually cooked it himself before, but he remembered his mom used to do it for him all the time as a kid. They couldn’t afford a lot, so oatmeal breakfast was pretty staple for the Todds. He had picked steel-cut oats. Irish style. Like she used to make. He loaded it with whole milk and real butter to add fat and calories, but skipped the sugar. Plain was probably safest.

When it was finished, he plopped a bowl down in front of Tim along with a glass of water. “Four P.M. breakfast is served,” he announced.

Tim stared at the food with trepidation, but eventually he took a bite.

The poor kid practically inhaled the bowl.

“Sorry I can’t give you more,” Jason said when he was finished, taking the empty bowl away. “I figure we go with five-hundred calories for the next few days and then bump you up to a thousand for a while until it’s safe to eat as much as you want. You should be able to have another bowl later tonight if that one doesn’t come back up.”

Tim nodded and Jason noticed his eyelids were starting to droop. “‘S fine,” he mumbled tiredly. “Don’t think I could eat anymore, anyway. Feels like my stomach is about to explode.”

“Need help getting back to bed?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. “No, I can make it. Thank you. For...all of this, Jason. Seriously.”

Jason shrugged an awkward shoulder and cleared his throat. “Don’t mention it.”

Tim pushed his chair back, but didn’t stand up. “Should I...that was your room, wasn’t it? Should I sleep somewhere else?”

“Nah, the other sleeping quarters aren’t made up. You can keep it, I’m bunking in Kory’s room. Her bed’s bigger anyway, ‘cause. Princess. I’ll move my stuff out of there tomorrow and we can get you fixed up properly. We’ll need to get you some clothes at some point, too.”

“It’s not...you don’t have better things to do? I can leave. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Cut it out, kid. If I didn’t want you here, I’d have booted your ass out, already. You can stay as long as you need to. This place is remote. We’re on an island—best place as any to recover. I’ll stick around and help you out. Until I get bored, or whatever.”

For the first time since Jason had found the kid stumbling through the streets of a Quraci village, a small almost-smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “Thanks.”

Jason was about to turn around and finish cleaning up, but he could see the thoughts whirring in the kid’s head, so he waited him out.

Finally Tim seemed to work up the courage. “Jason, what happened with Bruce? You haven’t mentioned him.”

Jason’s heart sank. Tim sounded so distressed. Apprehensive. Like he was expecting an answer he didn’t want to hear.

Jason wasn’t sure what kind of answers he could give. The kid hadn’t mentioned finding the proof he was looking for. If he’d found what he needed, he surely would have given it to someone who could do some good with it the second he had it. But Bruce was still gone. Jason hadn’t heard anything otherwise. Not a peep.

Had Tim really just been messed up like Dick thought? Had his search just been the delusion of a grief-stricken seventeen-year-old who’d finally lost one too many people he loved? Jason hadn’t thought so, but...looking at him now, so broken and lost…

“I think Bruce is dead, Tim.”

Tim’s head shot up and he stared wide-eyed at Jason.

“What? No, I...but I found  _ proof. _ He...how can he be? Was I too late? Did I wait too long to send it to Booster, I—”

“Wait, wait, hold on. What? What are you talking about?”

_ “Bruce,” _ Tim said, his voice encroaching hysteria. “I found  _ proof _ that he was lost in time. I’ve been gathering enough evidence to pinpoint the times and places we might find him. I sent it all to Booster Gold. Did it not work? Was it not enough? Did they not...could they not save him?”

Jason’s head was spinning. Bruce  _ was _ alive? Then it hit him. Booster Gold.

_ “Booster. _ Booster’s been...the whole thing with Sanctuary, Roy, Wally...Tim, Booster’s been on the run. He was framed for murder, and then he got arrested, I don’t think...he didn’t get your message.

Bruce might be alive, but no one’s looking for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let me start by saying Dick Grayson is one of my absolute favorite DC heroes. He was my *first* favorite DC hero. I realize Dick’s anger is a bit irrational here. That’s the point. He’s definitely in the wrong. He’s just really, really worried about Tim, really upset that he’s fucked everything up, still grieving over Bruce, stressed about raising Damian, stressed about being Batman, and stressed that his best friend Wally accidentally killed a whole bunch of people, including one of their best friends. He’s going through some *shit* and he's not thinking clearly. Don't worry about how he'll end up in this fic, this isn't Dick-hate.
> 
> Second, these chapters are getting more and more difficult to pump out. I'm *really* trying to stick with the 5-day schedule, but I don't want to sacrifice the quality, so apologies ahead of time if I don't end up meeting that goal. I no longer have anything written ahead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made on the search for Bruce. Tim gets to see an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Let me start off by saying...I am SO SORRY I went AWOL. I had planned on updating much more frequently, but this story is stuck in my throat and I'm having a hard time coughing it up. I promise I've been working on it this whole time. In fact, I have all 10 chapters written, it just needs...a lot of work. I'm not happy with the way this story turned out, I'll be honest, but I'm going to post it anyway because I don't like leaving y'all hanging.
> 
> Also you may have noticed that this has now been changed into a series. Oh boy. I had not planned on turning this fic into a series, but here we are. I didn’t feel like I could wrap this all up in one fic and still have a satisfying ending, so series it is. Not super happy with how the pacing turned out in this one, sorry guys. Hopefully it's still enjoyable anyway.
> 
> Lastly, this is NOT a slash fic, but there's a certain few scenes between Tim and another character that you can certainly read that way if you'd like.
> 
> TW: Please check the updated tags. I've updated them for the rest of the story so you can know what to look out for later, not all of the tags are for the chapters already posted. Rating has also been upgraded to mature.
> 
> Pleeeease leave a comment to let me know if you're enjoying this story because I'm so discouraged with it right now.

“He didn’t get...no one…I have to—I need a computer, a phone, give me something.”

_ Stupid. _ He never should have sent everything to just Booster. He should have sent it to Dick and Barbara like he’d really wanted to. Stupid. Selfish. He’d let his own pride keep him from sending it to the people that could actually help.

Tim put his head down and pulled at his hair in frustration. Anger bubbled in his stomach. Green tinged the edges of his vision.

This was his fault for getting himself killed. For getting himself tossed into the Pit and letting it mess with his brain. There’s no telling what kind of terrible things were happening to Bruce out there. Bruce was waiting for Tim to  _ save _ him and Tim had thought he could let someone  _ else _ handle that?

_ Stupid. _

_ No. _ Nonono. He didn’t have  _ time _ for this. Breathe. Focus.

Jason left hurriedly and came back with a laptop. He dropped it in front of Tim and Tim opened it. He fished the thumb drive out of his pocket. He’d managed to hold onto it all this time, through the escape from Ra’s, the plane crash—everything. He wondered, somewhere deep down, if he’d  _ ever _ really be able to let go of it, even once they found Bruce. And they  _ would _ find Bruce, even if Tim had to find a time machine and go after him  _ himself. _ He jammed the drive into the port and started working.

"Where's Booster now?" he asked Jason while he worked. Talking was hard. The anger was beginning to burn like acid in his gut and it was getting more difficult to take even, measured breaths through his nose. In. Out. In. Out.

Jason stood there awkwardly, fidgeting like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He curled them into fists and relaxed them over and over, a nervous energy coming off of him in waves. Jason Todd was never good at just standing around while  _ other _ people did all the work. "Uhh...I don't know exactly. Not in jail anymore, they figured out who really killed Ro—" Jason swallowed the word he was about to say, his adam’s apple bobbing. "I don't know, “ he repeated.

Tim held out a hand, palm flat, still clicking away at the keyboard with the other. "Phone." 

In. Out. In. Out.

Jason's phone landed in his hand with a light smack. Tim dialed and held it to his ear.

It only rang twice before there was an answer.

The voice was breathless, as though its owner had run to the phone. "Jay? Is Tim okay?"

Tim took another breath. A deep one. Just the sound of Dick's voice sent green spots dancing in his vision. The voice that came out of his throat wasn't Tim’s, it was Red Robin's—pitched down, level, all business. "I need you to find Booster Gold. I'm sending files to you, Oracle, and the JLA. Use them to pinpoint Bruce's location."

_ "Tim? _ Tim are—"

"Shut  _ up." _ He spoke through his teeth, almost unable to get the words out. The Red Robin in his voice faded a bit, his usual tone bleeding back into it. He bit down on it and put in some of the anger instead. "Bruce is out there, Dick. I found him. Use what I’m sending you.  _ Find Booster Gold." _ The last words were almost a growl. 

He didn't bother hanging up, just held the phone out to Jason, his focus completely back on the computer screen. He worked on controlling his breathing, trying to blink the spots away. A whining buzz was already starting in his ears. 

In. Out. In. Out.

Jason took the phone and pressed it to his ear when he realized Dick was still on the line. There was something reserved in his tone, something a little bitter, his usual snark muted. "Better listen to him, Dicky. Remember what you said? About fixing this?  _ Believing _ the kid is probably the first step. Maybe it’s not much coming from me, but you should  _ trust _ him. He’s your brother." There was a little bit of a growl in Jason’s voice, too. Tim wondered whether that was the Pit in them or the Bat.

He tuned out the rest of the conversation. The green was getting more vibrant now. Breathing was getting harder. He realized he had miscalculated. He’d thought he could keep himself under control this time, but talking to Dick when he was already angry was causing an uncontrollable chain reaction. He should have known better. Magic was unpredictable. And that’s what the Pit was, that’s what this curse was. Bruce would probably say otherwise— _ Tim _ probably would have said otherwise before. But now he could  _ feel _ it stirring in his insides and running through his veins. There was no science here. Just because he could control it sometimes didn’t mean it couldn’t rear its ugly head full force at the slightest provocation just to spite him, almost like it was sentient. 

He forced himself to work through it until finally his shaking finger tapped the enter key. 

He let some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders. All of his work was now in the hands of people who could help. For  _ real _ this time. He was done.

_ They’re coming for you Bruce. Hold on. _

His breathing was erratic now. His whole body trembled. He closed his eyes and tried to think back to how Jason had talked him down before. He thought about Gotham. About soaring through the sky above the city; the heavy smell of coal smoke, the weird chemical pollution that always lingered in the air above the city, and the stinging scent of sea salt and rotten seaweed from the docks; the sounds of cars whooshing by on the streets below, dock workers yelling and laughing, the distant sound of gunshots that meant he was needed, that meant he could be useful to someone.

_ Home. _

A home he hadn’t seen in 6 months. A home that belonged to Tim Drake. Tim Wayne. Robin. Not...whoever he was now.

His chest burned with every panicked gasp and an uncomfortable ache in his knees made him realize he was kneeling on the ground, having at some point fallen out of his chair. He opened his eyes and through the haze of green he saw Jason crouched in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed that Jason had reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. He could barely feel it—could barely feel his  _ body. _ Jason’s mouth was moving, but the static buzzing in Tim’s ears drowned out whatever he was saying.

An itching feeling started under his skin, cutting through the disconnected numbness. It grew and swelled until it was like thousands of ants biting at his nerve endings. The far away feeling of Jason’s hand on his shoulder suddenly became unbearable, jagged nails scraping on a raw burn. He shrugged violently, throwing it off.

The green spread further and further with every thundering heartbeat, a painful pressure building in his head with every throb.

He couldn’t breathe. His lips were tingling. He clawed at his throat in desperation.

The pressure in his head built and built until Tim thought his head couldn’t hold it in any longer and then it  _ couldn’t. _ He felt something inside of him  _ give _ and— 

——

Twenty hours later Jason was pacing a hole in the floor of the common room, the only sound in the ship his anxious footsteps echoing off the metallic walls. Tim had bolted out the door as soon as the Pit madness had taken over and Jason had gone after him, but he'd lost him in the jungle surrounding the ship.

They were alone on the island, there was no one around for Tim to run into, and he could take care of himself, even out of his mind. Jason knew he would be fine.

Still. Twenty hours. He was worried.

He'd almost resolved to go out for another sweep of the jungle when the door to the ship suddenly  _ whooshed _ open. Jason’s head whipped around at the sound and his breath caught in his throat.

Tim.

His bare feet were covered in mud and small cuts and scrapes, his throat was littered with long finger scratches and dried blood, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. He still wore Roy’s too-large castoffs and he looked so much smaller standing there in them.

He stood hesitantly at the door, peering inward. When he noticed Jason, his breath hitched and he stumbled forward hastily, almost tripping over his own clumsy feet. He crashed into Jason and threw his arms around his torso. His face was pressed into Jason's chest and his broken voice came out muffled.

"You’re okay. I thought I killed you,” he choked.

Jason froze as Tim’s arms wrapped around him. After a few seconds of his brain glitching it sputtered and kicked itself into gear and he returned the hug, hopefully not too awkwardly. He didn’t hug often. Roy had tackled him in the occasional bear hug, trapping his arms so that he didn’t have to try and force himself to hug back. His dad would sooner slug him than hug him. Bruce was Bruce. His mom had hugged him, but those memories were weathered with age and tempered with pain.

"You wouldn’t.” His voice was gruff, grinding out of his throat. “Even in a Lazarus rage. You're not like me, kid.”

Tim pulled back and looked up at Jason's face, his eyes searching for something. His voice shook, unshed tears constricting his throat. "How can you know that? I don't...I don't know if I  _ have _ killed anyone, Jay. I blacked out sometimes like this, in the beginning. I could have…" The rest of the sentence was choked off in a hiccup.

Jason shook his head. He put as much earnestness into his voice as he could muster. It wasn’t a tone he was very familiar with, but he tried his best. This was how he’d had to talk to Biz sometimes. "You  _ didn't. _ You're too...you're too  _ good, _ kid. Too much like  _ him. _ You wouldn't cross that line, even out of your mind."

And maybe he was wrong, maybe Tim would prove him wrong, but Jason really believed what he was saying. Tim Drake was  _ solid _ and  _ moral. _ Jason’s morality had been on shaky legs even before the Pit. Tim was different. No way would  _ anything _ ever make that kid mortally wound an innocent person. He hadn’t even tried to kill Jason. It had taken a while for Jason to notice it, but every Lazarus episode Tim had had so far, he hadn’t really been trying to kill Jason—he’d just tried to  _ get away _ and Jason had been between him and escape. Jason’s nose twinged at the memory of their struggle after the plane crash. Jason had been holding him down, he’d deserved the wound. It was practically self defense.

Tim stepped back and his expression went stony. His voice was suddenly dull, the thick emotion that had been there seconds before fleeing from his body like a demon being exorcised. "You don't know me.” His tone was wooden.

Jason sighed. He knew there was no response to that that would satisfy the kid. Not right now, not so fresh out of the green. This was a talk for later.

"Maybe not, but I  _ do _ know you well enough to know  _ that. _ I bet there are a whole lot of people that would agree with me. Anyway, come on." He motioned at Tim, the blood on his neck and under his fingernails, the dirt and mud. “Let's get you cleaned up." He reached out a helping hand and Tim jerked back, stumbling a bit with the motion.

"I can do it." The words were utterly void of emotion, his expression distant, eyes dull.

Jason held his hands up, placating. "Fine, fine. I'll make you some food, okay?"

Tim nodded numbly and left the room without another word.

Jason made food and set a plate out, but after long enough that it was getting cold, he went to check on Tim. The door to his old room was open and he peeked in cautiously.

"Kid? You oka—"

His eyes fell on Tim, curled up on the bed, hair damp and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was fast asleep.

Jason sighed, grabbed a spare blanket from the closet, tossed over the kid, flicked off the lights, and closed the door.

He made his way into the common area and plopped down heavily onto the couch. Tim needed help. Jason may have been one of the only people alive who knew exactly what he was going through, but Tim wasn't wrong—Jason  _ didn't _ know him. The Pit was making him volatile, amplifying his emotions, but that wasn't his only problem. There were a boatload of other things bothering the kid and the Pit was just making it all worse. He could help him mitigate the effects of the pit, given time, but he couldn’t help him with the other stuff.

Jason just shot at things when he was upset. He didn’t think that approach would work for Tim.

God, he missed Roy. Roy was  _ so _ good at this kind of thing. He'd know exactly what to do. He felt a deep panging ache in his chest but shoved it down.

Who could he call? When it came to Tim, Dick would be the obvious choice to help, but Dick was part of the  _ problem, _ the idiot.

Tim had friends, didn't he? The purple girl, the Titans. But there wasn’t much left of the Titans, right? And whatever was left, Tim had run away from them. He'd been missing for six months and no one had bothered to look for him. If he were still on good terms with any of those people, surely someone would have found him before  _ Jason. _

He needed a Tim expert.

Then something clicked to place in his head. He knew exactly who to call.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on one of his top contacts.

It took awhile for the answer to come, but when it did, the voice on the other end of the line was genteel, but warm, with a touch of concern.

Jason's response was nowhere close to genteel, but just as warm, with a whole lot of relief. "Alfie," he sighed. "I need some advice."

——

This was a bad idea. Jason paced a looping path around the common area, biting his lip. Alfred had dropped a bombshell on Jason— _ good news _ for once. Good news for Tim.  _ Great _ news for Tim.

But  _ surprising _ the kid with it? That had been Jason’s idea, and now that the surprise was  _ here, _ standing right outside, waiting?

This was a bad idea. What had he been thinking? Springing a surprise like this on someone deep in the clutches of the Lazarus Pit?

But Tim  _ deserved _ a nice surprise. Jason...wanted to give him this, because at some point he’d started  _ caring _ about the kid.

Tim deserved something good. Jason had only had Talia after he’d come out of the Pit. She hadn’t tried to help him, only twisted him up for her own gain. No one had been around back then to do anything like this for Jason. Maybe if they had, things would have turned out differently. He felt a selfish twinge of jealousy. For that and for what the kid was about to get that Jason would never have.

He stopped pacing, steeled himself, and marched down the hall to his old—to  _ Tim’s _ room. The kid had barely come out since his episode two days ago. Jason had hardly even been able to get him to eat.

He knocked. No answer.

Crap. Was he asleep? That would complicate this.

Finally, he heard the  _ beep _ of the lock being released and the door  _ whooshed _ open.

Tim’s clothes and hair were rumpled as though he had been curled up in bed, but his eyes were alert, wide awake.

“What is it, Jason?”

Jason huffed in frustration at the cold tone. Tim was trying to push him away.

Not happening, Little Bird.

“Can we talk for a sec?”

Tim looked at him for a long moment, before inclining his head minutely and stepping back to let Jason into the room. Jason sat on his bed and motioned for Tim to sit with him.

“I called Alfred for advice. You were right. I don’t know you all that well yet. Which means I don’t know the best way to help you. I thought Alfred would know who best to ask for help. He had some good advice. And some...news. Something big happened recently and...well. I invited someone over. Someone I think you’ll want to see. Someone who can help.”

Tim balked and jumped up from the bed, stepping back from Jason. “You brought someone  _ here?” _

Jason held up a hand. “Hold on a minute. Listen, you have complete control here, okay? You don’t have to see anyone if you don’t want to. I can send him away, okay?  _ You have the control, here, Tim. _ I want you to understand that. As of right now, no one knows anything but you and me, and it will stay that way until you say otherwise, okay? I didn’t even give  _ Alfred _ any details, I swear. Just hear me out, and then whatever happens next is up to you.”

Tim clenched his jaw, but nodded hesitantly. “Who is it?”

“Someone you’ll want to see. Someone you’d regret turning away. Someone you thought was lost.”

Something sparked behind Tim’s eyes. A cautious hope. He blinked and shook his head like he was trying to shake the spark away, but it was still there.

“...Bruce?”

Jason winced. Oops. “Not Bruce. Sorry, kid.”

“Lost? Who else could...?” His brows pinched together and Jason could see the sadness swimming in his eyes. The list of people he had lost was too long.

Jason raised his eyebrows encouragingly. “Someone you don’t have to worry about accidentally hurting if you go green.”

Tim’s face paled. “No—it can’t—” He moved toward the door like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. His eyes were wide. “Where…?”

“He’s waiting outside.”

Tim took off like a shot and Jason trotted after him. He caught up just in time to see that the guest in question had come inside the ship of his own volition, having heard every word of Jason and Tim’s conversation. Tim collided with him so hard it must have been like hitting a brick wall, but neither of the two seemed fazed by it. Tim’s arms went around the other boy, and his hug was returned with what must have been a crushing force. Tim was lifted off of his feet and he dangled there, wrapped around his friend like he was holding a lifeline.

A broken sob ripped itself from Tim’s throat.

_ “Kon.” _

Superboy’s voice was tight and a little awed. “Hi,” he said simply.

Tim pulled back from the hug to look him in the face. His eyes were full of unshed tears. “Kon, you  _ died. _ How...what—”

Superboy shook his head, and set Tim back down onto his feet. Tim grabbed a fistful of Superboy’s shirt, seemingly unconsciously, not willing to give up the contact. Superboy kept both his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “It’s a long story, plenty of time to tell you later. I—”

Superboy’s words stuttered to a halt as he took in Tim’s appearance. Too thin, dark circles under his eyes, bandages on his neck, and most importantly…

Superboy reached out to brush a white hair off of Tim’s forehead. He looked at Jason’s hair, then back at Tim’s. “Tim? What... _ what happened?” _

Tim’s face fell and he dropped his grip on Superboy’s shirt. His arms fell limply to his side. “I—” He shook his head. “Kon, there’s so much—I’m not...I...I—”

Alarm bells were going off in Jason’s head. This could be an oncoming Lazarus episode, but he had a feeling it was something else. They may not have been all that close, but he knew Tim well enough to know that he was the closest of the Robins to their mentor and father-figure when it came to dealing with emotions. It was pretty obvious that the kid had a tendency to suppress and hide behind his cool exterior. He didn’t get close to a lot of people, and he didn’t open up to just anyone.

Conner Kent was his best friend. The person he’d been closest to in the world. And he’d died. He’d died and Tim had lost Bruce, lost Robin,  _ died, _ and he’d been  _ alone. _ Alone with no one to open up to, fighting this new terrible thing inside of him on top of everything else, and it was all building up in him, ready to explode and…

And now his best friend was back from the dead. Standing in front of him, ready to listen.

And it was too much. There was too much built up and he was like a pressure tank and Superboy had just given the release valve a good solid  _ tap. _

——

_ Konkonkonkonkon. _

Tim’s mind was short circuiting as he wrapped his arms around the bigger boy. Conner lifted him off the ground and crushed him in a painful hug and Tim never wanted it to end. Never wanted to let go again because Conner was  _ alive. _

And then Conner had looked at him and there was hurt in his eyes when he saw the white in Tim’s hair, hurt and concern, and he’d asked…

_ “What happened?” _

And Jason had asked the same question, when he’d found him, and Tim’s response had been snide, closed off; but this was  _ Conner, _ his  _ best friend _ and Tim hadn’t told  _ anyone _ everything that had happened to him, not even Pru. He’d always been able to talk to Conner, to tell him  _ anything, _ and here he was  _ back from the dead, _ and he was  _ worried _ and he was  _ asking _ and…

And there was too much to tell. The swell of emotion that hit him was suffocating. His insides were tearing and he couldn’t get in a breath and there wasn’t even any  _ green _ this time, this was all  _ Tim. _

He stuttered out the beginning of a response, but he couldn’t even find the words to begin and his chest hurt and the room was spinning and he wasn’t breathing and his body was tingling and…

And then he was being lifted up like he weighed nothing and Conner was wrapping him in a hug again and they were sitting on something soft and Tim was in Conner’s lap, his face in his chest, digging his fingers into his shirt like claws and he could tell by the rumble in Kon’s chest that he was talking but the words weren’t reaching Tim’s numb ears.

Tim wasn’t really aware of how much time passed, but eventually he was able to focus on the rise and fall of Kon’s chest and the steady thudding of his heartbeat and the deep rumble of his speech and finally Tim's throat wasn’t so tight and his chest felt looser and his breathing came easier.

They just sat there like that. Conner holding Tim and Tim just breathing, listening to his best friend’s heart—his _pulse—_ thumping rhythmically in his chest.

And he was still so  _ so _ tired. With the warmth of Conner’s body (his  _ body heat _ because he was  _ alive), _ the calming motion of his chest rising and falling like waves in the sea, the steady rhythm of his heart...Tim couldn’t keep his eyes open and his mind started to drift away, the only thought in his head Conner’s name.

He had no idea how long they’d been like that when Conner shook him gently. “Tim?”

Tim blinked heavily and lifted his head from Conner’s chest. “Shit,” he said, suddenly embarrassed by the outburst. “I’m sorry.”

Conner rolled his eyes and snorted fondly, though there was an undertone of deep worry to his voice. “Do  _ not _ apologize for that, idiot.”

Tim huffed a tired almost-laugh and suddenly realized he was  _ sitting in Conner’s lap _ like a little kid and scooted off to sit onto the couch next to him. He bit his tongue on another apology, but Conner seemed to sense it anyway and rolled his eyes again.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just taking in each other’s presence, then Conner cleared his throat. “So...it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I just want to know that you’re okay. I want to help. Tell me how to help.”

Tim’s throat tightened. “I don’t know, Kon. I don’t know how to...deal with this.”

Conner put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me?” His voice was so  _ sincere. _

Tim sighed and rubbed at his face. He needed to get it all out. Needed to tell Kon  _ everything. _ But...he looked around. At some point, Jason had left the room. Left Tim to meltdown with Kon in private. He felt a twinge of gratitude and fondness towards his brother.

“I want to. I want to tell you everything. But Jason should be here to hear this. He saved me. He needs to know, too.” And Tim did  _ not _ want to tell this story twice.

Conner’s face screwed up in an unreadable expression. “That’s Jason  _ Todd, _ right? The  _ Red Hood? _ I thought this was some kind of trap when he called. How did you end up with  _ him? _ He tried to  _ kill _ you, Tim.”

Tim sighed and rubbed at his face again, harder this time. God, what was his life? “That’s all…” he flopped a tired hand. “Water under the bridge. He apologized. The Lazarus pit…” he swallowed around the lump that rose in his throat any time he said those words. “Does stuff to your mind. None of what Jason did was his fault.” He shrugged. “He saved me. He was the only one to come for me.”

Conner took that in and tilted his head in thought. Brief anger swirled in his expression at Tim’s last sentence. Tim knew there would be questions and discussion about  _ that _ later. 

“You trust him.” It wasn’t a question.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He raised his chin to look Conner in the eye. “I do. He’s family.”

Conner nodded. “Okay. That’s good enough for me. I’ll go find him.”

Conner stood up and it was then that Tim realized he had screwed a fist up into Conner’s shirt again. He loosened his grip and the boy stepped away. Tim lamented the loss of the warmth on the couch next to him and had to steady his breathing when Conner disappeared from the room.

Not a stress-induced hallucination, he had to tell himself. Not a dream. He’s alive. He’s really here. He’s coming back.

And he did. Not thirty seconds later, Conner reappeared, Jason following behind. He dropped back onto the couch next to Tim and Tim took a fistful of his shirt again, this time intentionally. If Conner noticed, he didn’t let on, or seem to mind.

Jason dropped down into a chair across from them. He nodded at Conner. “Superboy,” he said.

“Call me Conner.”

“Conner,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile.

Jason turned his attention to Tim. “Don’t push yourself too hard here, Timmy. Go easy. You can stop whenever you want.”

Tim nodded and took a breath. He could do this.

He opened his mouth and let the words pour out.

——

Tim hadn’t taken Bruce’s death well. He knew he hadn’t. But as he’d waded through the haze of grief, he’d realized that something felt off about the whole thing. It wasn’t  _ right. _ And then he’d seen that picture in the manor, and he just  _ knew. _ Bruce was alive.

No one had believed him. He skipped over most of that part of the story, giving it only a few stilted words. That part was steeped too heavily in green.

So he’d left Gotham. Struck out on his own. Alone with his new mantle. One that was already tarnished, one he couldn’t do anymore damage to with what he was going to need to do. With the lines he was going to need to cross.

He’d taken Ra’s’ offer of help. Made a deal with the devil. Because there  _ were _ no more lines, anymore, really. He couldn’t even see them any longer, save the one. The one that Bruce had drawn so clearly, so many times, that it was permanently etched into Tim’s vision.

And Ra’s’ resources had proven invaluable. Tim had traipsed across Europe with Pru, and Z, and Owens in tow, and they had made significant progress.

And then they were attacked. Owens and Z were gone, Pru was hurt, and Tim was left bleeding out in the desert.

He didn’t know how long he lay leaking blood into the sand, but eventually he’d crawled over to Pru, staunched her bleeding, managed to get both of them into the car and driven them, somehow, to a hotel nearby—one he knew Bruce had used as a bat cache. He’d barely managed to get Pru and himself hauled in through the window. He’d crawled onto the bed and…

And he’d been too weak to do anything else, too spent, barely even conscious. That would have been it for the both of them if moments later Ra’s’ assassins hadn’t burst into the room and whisked them away.

He’d woken up in the Lazarus chamber then and he’d been  _ terrified _ that Ra’s had put him in the Pit. He’d been so  _ relieved _ when Ra’s had reassured him that that wasn’t the case.

Then he’d...picked himself up like nothing had happened and carried on with the search.

Then finally,  _ finally _ after so long, he only needed  _ one more _ data point.  _ One more _ and he had enough to pinpoint a location where they could retrieve Bruce from the timestream.

And Ra’s didn’t seem happy about that. The deal was that Tim would help the League take down the Council of Spiders and they would in turn provide him with the resources he needed to find Bruce. And the Council of Spiders was not yet dealt with. Once Bruce was rescued, Ra’s reasoned, Tim would no longer have any reason to fulfill his side of the agreement.

But Bruce didn’t have  _ time _ to wait until the Council was dealt with.

_ Yes, _ technically, he was trapped in the past, so  _ hypothetically _ Tim could wait as long as he wanted to save him. But time  _ here _ was ticking on without him. The criminal landscape of Gotham was ever-shifting, and the longer Bruce spent away, the more work it would be for him to catch up when he came back. 

And as much as Tim hated the kid, Bruce had already missed so much of Damian’s childhood, his development, and here he still was, continuing to grow up without Bruce. Every second Bruce missed was a second he couldn’t get back, and Tim  _ knew _ how much that would hurt Bruce.

And Tim just...missed him. He needed him back.  _ Now. _

Tim may have been acting head of the League, but Ra’s was still the Demon’s Head. He ordered Tim to wait.

But Tim didn’t listen. He disobeyed orders. 

And so the Demon’s Head decided that he no longer needed his successor to be willing.

It had always been obvious by Ra’s uncomfortable obsession with Tim what he wanted from him. He wanted Tim to be his heir. And thus far, he seemed to want to win Tim over to his side.

But not anymore.

The last set of clues Tim needed for the final data point was in Russia. Tim went alone.

That was his first mistake. It was in Russia that everything started to go wrong.

He was ambushed. Captured. Promise had tricked him, set him up.

And Ra’s’ sister had tried to...what was it he had said to Jason in his manic, half-coherent state?

_ I think at this point all he cares about is making little assassin babies with me. _

Shackles on his wrists, warm hands undoing the fastenings on his suit.

Kon’s fists were balled so tight when he told this part of the story that Tim could swear he heard them creak. Jason’s face had gone gray.

Tim’s tone as he spoke was cold, detached. It had to be, for that part. He had to distance himself from the memory as he recounted it, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to continue.

And nothing had happened, anyway. Everything was fine. Tim had installed an emergency beacon in the Red Robin suit when he’d first donned it, just like the one he’d had in his Robin suit. This one, though, instead of notifying  _ everyone _ that he needed help, only pinged Cassandra. The only member of the family he still trusted.

She was also, fortuitously, the closest in proximity, being only a few hours away in Hong Kong. Tim had set off the beacon the second he realized something was wrong, and by the time he’d woken up shackled to the wall, enough time had passed that Cass was already there to save him.

Nothing had happened. No one touched him. He was fine.

Cassandra had rescued him, and lucky for Tim, she’d had to stay out of contact while she was in Hong Kong and had no idea what had gone down between him and the rest of the family. So he’d assured her that he was fine. He could tell she didn’t really believe him, but she trusted him enough to leave well enough alone. She’d kissed him on the cheek, told him to visit her in Hong Kong next time he was free, and left.

And Tim had brushed himself off, locked the experience away in his mind, somewhere far away where any emotional backlash wouldn’t rear its head and compromise the mission. He’d finished what he came to do, and gone back to Ra’s.

Neither Promise, nor Ra’s sister had admitted to it, but Tim knew who had sent them. He knew that Ra’s had ordered the attack. 

Tim wasn’t obedient enough. He’d disobeyed, proven that Ra’s agenda did not align with his. 

Sure Ra’s had more than likely entertained the idea that, given enough time and effort, Tim would be easy enough to break and mold into the heir he wanted. But it would be so much easier just to take what he needed for a fresh new heir and then throw Tim away like everyone else did.

Tim didn’t say most of that part out loud.

When he returned from Russia, Tim pretended he had no idea that Ra’s had anything to do with the attack.

He’d been stupid enough to think that he had Ra’s fooled.

He pretended to make good on his word to Ra’s and set up a trap for the Council of Spiders. He lured them to various parts of the world and set up an ambush for each member. While Ra’s was distracted by the trap, Tim set up another ambush of his own.

He’d been just about to press the button that would destroy every League base on the planet when Ra’s had surprised him.

He’d slipped in from behind and cut Tim’s throat. Blood spilled down onto the keyboard in front of Tim, the final key to complete his goal unpressed.

As Tim lay at Ra’s feet, his life draining out through his throat, Ra’s captured the last of his fading senses.

“You’ve disappointed me twice, Detective,” he said coldly, looking down at Tim with little emotion. “I do hope the Lazarus Pit agrees with you, it would be such a waste. It is a shame that, should you come through the Pit intact, I will now have to undergo the long, taxing process to break you in order to remold you into a more...cooperative partner. I do hope that wonderful intellect survives the process, otherwise I will have little use for you.” He shrugged. “You will be giving me an heir regardless, I suppose.”

Tim’s vision had faded out by the end of Ra’s’ monologue. As he sank into darkness, the last words Tim heard before the final drops of life drained from his body were Ra’s al Ghul’s sonorous voice rumbling an order to the underlings that were quickly shuffling into the room.

“Prepare him.”

——

The details following his death were hazy. He remembered the green water. Remembered the burning in his chest as he inhaled it into his lungs. The odd peace that had settled into him as he stopped struggling against it and let the green liquid fill him. He remembered floating lazily, drifting, a euphoric buzz filling his veins like a drug.

But then it had started to burn, until the euphoria was seared away and replaced with pure, agonizing  _ rage. _ He’d screamed into the water, his voice drowned by it. He’d clawed his way to the surface and heaved, expelling the liquid from his lungs. He’d choked on the fresh, humid air above the surface. It felt wrong, like his lungs weren’t made to breathe it. Everything felt wrong. His body felt wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.

Then there were many hands on him, pulling him from the water, and he  _ didn’t want to go. _ The green was a part of him. He wanted to go back to that warm, euphoric haze. Outside of the water was cold and harsh and  _ wrong. _

He remembered fighting against the hands. They’d stopped him somehow. He didn’t remember how. Didn’t remember what he’d done before he’d been stopped, or how long it had taken them. Didn’t ever want to.

He’d woken up an indeterminate amount of time later (and wasn’t  _ that _ disconcerting, for Tim’s internal clock had always been so accurate, so impeccable no matter what had happened to him, that it had almost felt like a supernatural power). He was lying on cold stone, wrapped in simple, comfortable League clothes. He could feel shackles around his wrists and ankles, a cold metal collar around his throat. Five separate chains trailed from his bindings to heavy rings on the stone floor. Tim found that he didn’t mind the cold or the chains. He lay on the ground, his body feeling strangely numb. He recognized, distantly, that he had been drugged. Heavily. Everything felt fuzzy, the world around him was all soft edges, and he was entirely unconcerned with the situation. He lay listlessly, enjoying the irony of being chained to the ground yet finally feeling free and unburdened of concerns for once in his life.

After a while, there had been footsteps and he’d opened eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d closed. Ra’s stood before him, standing over him just as he had after slitting his throat.

“Ah, Detective. Finally awake. How are you feeling?”

Tim had huffed through his nose and hummed noncommittally.

“Yes, I understand the tranquilizers my people have administered are quite strong. I would prefer you stay compliant for now, I haven’t quite finished preparations. I haven’t yet decided which method of re-education would be best suited for you. I have used many methods in the past, but it has been a while, and never have I re-molded a mind as unique as your own. I will need to be meticulous.” He’d sighed discontentedly. “I do so dislike that it has come to this, Detective. Your will is part of why I am so fond of you. Breaking it will be such a travesty. Nonetheless, I still believe you will make a useful tool, regardless of whether or not you will still be suitable as an heir yourself when we are finished.”

Tim couldn’t find it in him to care about Ra’s monologuing and sometime between heavy blinks, the man had finished his speech and left the room. Tim knew he should be concerned. Should be trying to pick the locks and escape. Instead he let himself float, his mind wandering aimlessly.

Time passed, and Tim had drifted between sleep and wakefulness until finally he awoke feeling less fuzzy. The shackles on his limbs and throat chafed uncomfortably. A trickle of anxiety began to flood into his thoughts and he’d sat up unsteadily, the gravity of his situation finally beginning to sink in as his mind rapidly cleared with every ounce of adrenaline that was pumping through his veins.

He’d attempted to break his bonds only to find that the cuffs had no visible lock. In fact, they had no seam at all, seemingly smithed directly onto him. Magic, maybe? Unbreakable by discernible means, regardless.

So he’d been forced to wait for Ra’s next move.

It had come in the form of a tall, spindly man. His skin was so sickly, inhumanly gray that Tim couldn’t even tell what ethnicity he was. He wore dark League robes, and didn’t seem to have a single hair on his body, not even in the form of brows or eyelashes. His eyes were so dark that in the dim light of the torches that lit the room they seemed to be a colorless black.

Tim didn’t go into detail about what the gray man had done to him. He couldn’t. He didn’t mention much about his time in chains at all.

Tim knew the steps of some of the basic methods of brainwashing. That kind of unfortunate knowledge was necessary in his line of work.

But being familiar with it did not make one resistant to it.

He would have broken, had Talia not taken it upon herself to defy her father and break Tim free. The gray man had had...too many days with Tim before Talia showed up. But not nearly enough time to wear away Tim’s sense of identity, like he was trying.

Not completely, anyway.

Talia had somehow released him from the perplexing bonds, shoved a bundle into his arms—his  _ stuff _ , the Red Robin suit, the  _ jump drive— _ shrouded him in a cloak, and spirited him out of the complex. She drove him to an airstrip where a plane to Gotham awaited them.

But Ra’s’ men were waiting on the plane.

Talia fought them off, and told Tim to run.

So he had. He’d tossed the suit, stupid, useless dead weight, pocketed the drive, and run until he couldn’t run anymore. He collapsed in the desert. And when his veins were finally empty of all the different drugs that Ra’s and the gray man had pumped into him…

The green finally crept up on him for the first time.

And for weeks after, the world was a haze of green, of hunger, of exhaustion.

Until he’d stumbled out of a shop in a village in the middle of nowhere and sensed someone was following him. He’d put a knife to that someone’s throat and been surprised to see a familiar face...

——

Now Tim sat on the couch in The Outlaws' crash-landed Tamaranean ship, clutching onto Kon while he told his story.

The room was uncomfortably silent when Tim finally stopped talking, his throat dry from speaking more words at once than he had spoken in over a month.

Conner was the first to break the silence. His face had drained of color as Tim spoke. His eyes burned with an alien rage. His voice was tight. “I—I have to—” He stood up abruptly, the motion tearing Tim’s grip from his shirt. “I’ll be right—” He disappeared out the door in a blink. Seconds later there was a supersonic  _ boom _ from somewhere above.

Tim stared self-consciously at the ground between him and Jason. Jason cleared his throat uncomfortably. His voice was shaky, thick with...Tim couldn’t tell. Anger? Sadness? Shock? Maybe all three. “Kid…”

He was saved from continuing by Conner’s return. Conner landed with a loud  _ thump _ and stepped back inside. His chest heaved from exertion. Tim wondered how far out he’d flown in his attempt to quell the obvious cataclysm of emotion flooding through him.

Tim wanted to say something. He hated that he was the one who’d put that twisted look of sorrow and rage on his best friend’s face. Conner was  _ alive. _ He shouldn’t have to put up with Tim’s problems when he should be celebrating his return.

“Kon...it’s okay. Really. I’m...I’ll be okay.”

Anger stiffened Conner’s whole body. “No it  _ isn’t, _ Tim. It’s  _ not _ okay.  _ None of what happened to you is okay!” _

Tim flinched at the harshness in Conner’s voice. Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them away in frustration. He felt stupid. Too open and...fragile. He’d opened all his doors and windows and too much had leaked out. He wanted to slam them all shut again. Everything was too loud, too bright. Even his skin felt too sensitive, every brush of soft cloth on his body like it was rubbing against pure nerve endings.

Conner noticed the flinch and seemed to deflate. He covered his eyes with a single, large hand, composing himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice more level this time. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Tim shrugged.

Jason left the room and came back holding a glass of water for Tim. Tim took it gratefully and sipped until his dry throat felt better.

Jason Todd, Tim thought, had never been good with words. Not when it came to emotions. He was like Bruce, in that way. He didn't know what to say to Tim, after hearing his story. Little gestures of concern like getting Tim a glass of water were his way of showing support, of showing that he cared and wanted to help. When Tim was finished with the water, he handed the glass back with a nod that he hoped conveyed his gratitude.

Conner seemed to get a hold of himself, and he dropped back down onto the couch next to Tim. He sat as close as he could, their sides and thighs touching, shoulders bumping. "You're right, though," he said. "You will be okay. We'll make sure of it."

And that...was apparently something that Tim hadn't realized he'd really needed to hear. His doors and windows were still wide open and those words came in like a warm summer breeze and…

Dislodged something.

It was like a damn broke and suddenly his face was wet and he was choking and he leaned into Kon and just sobbed. His body heaved and shook and Conner wrapped his arms around him and leaned back into the arm of the couch, pulling Tim with him.

Tim sobbed and sobbed and they lay like that, wrapped around one another for what felt like hours until Tim was too spent to cling onto consciousness any longer and he sank into Conner's warmth and let exhaustion take him under.

——

Dick was in the bunker when he got the call. He answered the phone expecting Jay and instead heard Tim’s voice for the first time since their fight six months ago. Pissed, but alive and seemingly in one piece as far as Dick could tell. When Tim spoke, though his voice was cold, hard. This was a business call, then.

_ Bruce is out there, Dick. I found him. Find Booster Gold. _

Then Jason.

_ Maybe it’s not much coming from me, but you should trust him. He’s your brother. _

He didn’t remember what he’d said after that. It didn’t matter, because seconds later Jason’s voice was full of concern. The sound of it was more distant, quieter, like he’d pulled the phone away from his face.

“Kid? You holding it together? Timmy, you still with me?”

Then there was a clatter and Jason cursed and then silence.

Dick pulled his phone away from his face and stared at the screen in alarm.

_ Call ended. _

What the hell? What was happening to Tim?

Dick called back three times to no answer.

A couple of hours later he was on the verge of putting out a damn Bat APB for the two of them when his phone rang again.

“Jay, what the hell is going on. Is Tim okay?” Dick’s heart was thudding in his ears. He wanted to  _ be there. _ Wanted to see Tim for himself. This rift between them was killing him.

“He’ll be fine.” A terse response. Not good.

Dick caught the intentional wording there. He’ll  _ be _ fine. Not  _ is _ fine.

“I’m only calling back so you don’t set the JLA on my ass because you’ve got it in your head that I’ve kidnapped your baby brother to torture him or something.” That old bitterness was back in his voice. Dick had hoped that was gone now. They’d been better, recently. Until Tim, until Dick screwed everything up.

_ “Our _ baby brother, Little Wing.” Jason was a part of this family whether he liked it or not and Dick was going to take every opportunity he could to remind him of that.

“Whatever, Dick. I just called to tell you I didn’t kill the kid. I’m hanging up now.”

“Jay, wait! Please.”

Jason didn’t respond, but he didn’t hang up. Dick took it as his cue to keep talking.

“I’m sorry about before. I was out of line. I do trust you, I just lashed out because I was scared for Tim. I know you said you won’t tell me what’s going on with him, but...can you at least tell me what just happened? You sounded…” Scared. “Worried.”

“It  _ really _ isn’t my business to tell, Dick. Look, he’s just been having…” He hesitated. “Panic attacks. That’s what happened on the phone earlier. Talking to you set him off.”

Jesus.  _ Panic attacks? _ Because of  _ Dick? _

God, he wished he could go back and slap his past self for screwing everything up so badly.

He didn’t want to lose his brother. Not any more than he already had. So many words of apology and desperation were tumbling around in his head it was hard to pick the right ones to put in his mouth. “Tell me what to do here, Jay. We need to fix this. Not for me, for Tim.”

Jason’s voice was muffled and Dick could almost see him rubbing a hand over his face. “I know, Dick. He’s just...going through a lot right now. I can’t think about this yet. Baby steps. First we need to worry about getting him healthy again. Body first, brain second.”

There was cold acid in his stomach suddenly. “Healthy? He’s not healthy?”

Jason sighed, obviously annoyed with himself for letting that slip.

“Malnourished. Exhausted. Nothing that a shit ton of vitamins, calories, and rest can’t help. We can’t do anything to help him get his head right while he’s like this. I’m working on it.”

God dammit. What had  _ happened _ to his brother out there?

“Look, we can talk about this more later, okay? Right now I need to go find...check...on Tim.”

His stomach went from cold to boiling in a flash.  _ “You lost him?” _ No nono. They’d just  _ found _ him. How could Jason  _ lose _ him?

He could hear the wince in Jason’s voice. “I didn’t  _ lose _ him. He...went for some alone time, and I just need to...locate him. He’s fine, we’re in the middle of nowhere and he’s on foot. He won’t go far. You apologized for not trusting me, right? So show you meant it.”

Dick swallowed down some of the boiling acid that was trying to make its way up his throat. Jason’s reassurances, however stilted and hesitant they came out, did something to ease his worry a little. Middle of nowhere. Couldn’t get far. Jay was right, Dick was learning to trust him, he needed to actually show that he was trying.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. I trust you to keep him safe, Jason. But...Jay. This thing with Bruce. You have to admit that Tim obviously isn’t stable right now, especially not after what you just told me. You think this is legitimate? You really think he’s right?”

“I don’t know, Dick. But I know he believes it. Everything he’s done these last six months, all of the terrible shit he’s been through, was to get the info in those files he sent you. Even if he’s wrong, what can looking into it hurt? Show him that you have some faith in him.”

How far had he fallen that he needed emotional advice from the man who had been so out of control of his own emotions that he’d ripped a bloody hole through the entire city in a fit of rage? But, no, that was giving Jay less credit than he deserved. He was more stable now. Better. His experiences probably made him  _ better _ at giving this kind of advice. And he’d always been smarter than Dick, anyway. “Okay. Okay, you’re right, Jay. I’ll look at the files, I’ll put some feelers out for Booster. He’s probably not going to be easy to find after what happened with Sanctua—”

“Yeah,” Jason interrupted, his voice clipped. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find him. I gotta go.”

“Keep me updated? Please?” He tried to keep the wetness out of his voice, but he didn’t think he succeeded.

“Yeah, Dickie. I’ll text you or something.” His words were curt, but his tone was soft.

The call ended and Dick slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Then he pulled up the message Tim had sent him, opened up the files, and settled in to read.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim was lying on the practice mat doing slow, steady sit ups and Jason was in the corner lifting weights when Jason’s phone rang. They both started at the sound and Jason jumped to answer it, hurriedly setting the weights back in their place.  
> “Dick?” Jason answered, his eyes meeting Tim’s as he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A *tad* less than sober as I edit and post this, but fuck it, this story has been sitting in my docs for too long and it's time it's posted, so here you go. Not sure when I'll have the next chapters up as I'm trying to fix the pacing, but they ARE coming, I promise. Also made some fairly important (but small) edits to the last chapter, so worth a quick re-read if you have the time.
> 
> Also, in case you missed it, I recently posted a short Jason-centric prequel to this story called [If there's no one to blame, blame it on me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506744). Check it out!

Tim awoke alone. At some point, someone, presumably Conner, had moved him without Tim even waking up.

Awake and now feeling much less emotional, he found himself utterly embarrassed about the meltdown. That was undoubtedly not the reunion that Kon had been hoping for.

Still, he felt…

He breathed in deeply, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t feel a catch in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much  _ hurt _ had been weighing him down. Crying had helped, humiliating or not.

Conner had helped.

He felt better. Marginally, maybe, but it was something.

He stretched and got out of bed. God, he felt like a cat. They needed what, sixteen hours of sleep a day? Tim had to be getting that much, at least. He’d never slept this much in his  _ life. _

But it was a good thing, right? Sleep was good. Sleep was helping his body recover.

It was also a way to avoid other things. Like dealing with the Lazarus rage. The thought brought back a familiar twinge of dread and some of the tension in his body came back.

He shook it off, focusing instead on his growling stomach. Food. He was hungry, and all he needed to do to fix that was go to the kitchen and eat. It was weird having free access to food again, even after only a month without it. Well, mostly free, anyway. He was still on a calorie restriction until they were sure his body was adapting to eating regularly again. He’d barely managed to meet his calorie goal over the last few days, though. He needed to do better.

Conner wasn’t in the common room, so Tim made his way to the kitchen. If Kon wasn’t in there, he’d eat and then go looking for him.

So far he’d only had oatmeal, but he was already sick of it. It was probably too early, but he decided to branch out while Jason wasn’t around to chastise him. He put together a quick turkey and veggie sandwich and scarfed it down. The variety of flavors were like ambrosia on his tongue after so long without, but he could barely focus on anything but the thought of Conner while he ate.

Stomach taken care of, he went hunting for Conner. He heard his voice before he saw him. He was down a long hallway Tim had yet to explore. His voice was coming from some spare room where he’d presumably gone to get some privacy to take a phone call.

“—an’t just leave him like this,” he was saying. “I just  _ got _ here, Cassie. No—I know, but you—Yes, I  _ know— _ Cassie! Just let me talk for a second! Cass, Tim is  _ not okay. _ He’s not even close. I  _ cannot _ leave him alone like this, not after—What? You—Cass...I—Yeah... _ yes, _ I get it, but can’t you do it without me? Is it really  _ that _ serious? What if I were still  _ dead, _ huh? What would you—I know, I’m sorry, you just don’t under—Fine.  _ Fine. _ Okay. I’ll...I’ll be right there. You’re going to have to make this up to him, Cass. We all are. He needs all of us right now and we’re just abandoning him.  _ Again. Yes, _ I’m talking about you.  _ I _ was  _ dead. _ Where were  _ you? _ No, stop, I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’m on my way. I have to go apologize to my fucking  _ traumatized _ best friend first.”

There was a shuffling sound as Conner shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned to storm out of the room. He passed through the door and almost ran smack into Tim, who stood stock still in the hallway, face blank. He looked at Conner’s chest, his eyes refusing to move up to his face.

“You’re leaving.” The words tasted like sand in his mouth.

Tim didn’t know what Conner’s face was doing, but his chest heaved. “I...yeah. I don’t want to. God, Tim, I don’t want to. If there were  _ any _ way I could stay...but. There are lives at stake. Innocent lives. A  _ lot _ of them. I…”

Tim waved him off weakly. “Yeah, no, I get it. It’s...that’s the life. It’s okay, Kon. I’ll be okay.”

Conner scrubbed at his face and reached out to grab Tim’s shoulders with both hands. He tried to tilt his head to look into Tim’s eyes, but Tim averted his gaze. He felt numb. He understood, though. He really did. He wasn’t mad. This is what they did. This was the kind of price they paid to keep people safe. The fate of the world was more important than their personal lives.

“You  _ will _ be okay. Jason’s taking care of you, right?” Conner shifted anxiously from foot to foot, his body language betraying the false confidence in his voice.

Tim nodded, dazed. It was hard to think past the numbness that had suddenly pervaded his senses. “Yeah.”

Conner took a shaky breath. “Okay. Do what he says, okay? I’ll be back  _ the second _ I can. I promise.”

“If you come back at all.” There was no inflection to his tone. He couldn’t— 

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Even though he wasn’t really looking, Tim could see enough of Conner’s face at the edge of his vision to know that he paled. “God, Tim. I…”

Tim blinked and shook his head, trying to clear away the macabre thoughts that were creeping over his brain like a venomous spider’s web. “I’m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean—”

_ “I’m coming back, _ okay?” He sounded so confident. He always sounded so confident.

“Yeah, just…” A thought occurred to Tim and his gaze suddenly turned fierce, finally shooting up to Conner’s face. Wait. Waitwait. “Don’t tell anyone, Conner. You  _ can’t _ tell anyone about me. About—” And why was he worrying about himself right now? Worrying about what other people thought? When Kon could be marching off to his death.  _ Again. _

“Okay, it’s okay. I won’t tell a soul. Not until you’re ready.” His mouth lifted into a small reassuring smile.

Tim nodded, swallowing, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Be safe. Please,” he breathed.

A few stilted apologies and long anguished looks later, Conner was gone, his form disappearing into the sky over the ocean in a blink. Jason stood next to Tim on the beach, watching the other boy’s departure with a frown.

He lifted a hand to Tim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid.” His face was twisted into something genuine and Tim felt a surprisingly fond warmth spread in his stomach.

Tim shook his head vehemently. “Don’t be.” He took a breath, releasing some of the tension. “That was...Jay, my best friend is  _ alive. _ That was more than—Just... _ thank you.” _

He wrapped Jason in a hug and this time Jason didn’t hesitate to return it. They stood like that for a long time and Jason pretended not to see Tim’s tears.

——

Damian stood behind Grayson at the computer, his stance cautious, unsure. Something was wrong with his brother. Grayson sat at the computer, his eyes wet, his grip on the arms of his chair making the leather creak in protest. Several images and document files were splayed open across the screens in front of him. Damian’s eyes skimmed over the contents, trying to assess what was upsetting him.

“Grayson? What’s the matter?”

Grayson’s voice was shaking. Batman should never sound so small and afraid. It was immensely unsettling. The sound of it sent goosebumps over Damian’s skin. “Damian...I think—I think I was wrong. I think Bruce is alive.”

——

After Superboy left, Tim went off to be on his own, leaving Jason sitting on the beach with his own thoughts.

He sat there for a while, watching the waves. He pulled his phone out and stared at the black screen, rubbing his thumb over the glass thoughtfully, his finger leaving oily smudges.

He hadn’t deleted the number. He’d thought about it. But. He hadn’t.

He woke the phone up, opened his contacts, and hit the one at the top.

The line rang and rang. His heart thudded in his chest hoping, irrationally, for an answer he knew wouldn’t ever come.

A click and the voicemail picked up. The greeting was generic, a robotic voice, not the human one he wanted to hear. He didn’t even get that much. 

_ The caller you have dialed is unavailable. Please leave a message. _

_ Beep. _

“I…” He sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “This is stupid. I can’t keep doing this. You’d probably make fun of me. I won’t make it a habit, I promise, it’s just...my—my brother’s best friend just came back from the dead, because that’s the kind of fucked up lives we have. B isn’t actually dead, either. We’re going to find him and bring him back, and...it’s just. It’s not  _ fair. _ I’m pissed at you. Why are you staying away? Why can’t you come back, Roy? Why—” He swallowed a sob. His eyes were hot, but dry. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t going to have this breakdown. “I just miss you. I could really use your advice right now. My fucked up family are being their usual fucked up selves and my brother is hurting and...I don’t know how to be a brother, Roy. This shit’s all new to me. I don’t know how to help him, and I can’t stop thinking that you would know exactly what to do, and I just...I wish you were here. It’s not the same without you. 

“And if you do come back...you better delete these messages. Blackmail material gathered when either of us are dead is not exploitable, I’m making that a rule right now.

“I...I love you, Roy Harper, you idiot. I miss you.”

He hung up. He had the urge to toss his phone into the ocean out of frustration but a last-second burst of prudence stopped him. Two less-than-stable League-trained vigilantes on a deserted island with no way to contact the outside world? Probably not a good idea.

Instead, he shoved it back into his pocket and stood up. He dusted the sand off of his butt and turned back to the ship to go find his brother.

——

He found Tim on the couch in the common room, sitting pressed against the arm rest, his knees tucked against his chest. His eyes were glazed over, his expression blank, staring at nothing. He took a breath through his nose and blinked, coming back to himself when Jason entered his field of view.

Jason plopped down next to him and Tim eyed him expectantly. 

“I think this might be a good time to teach you meditation.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I know how to meditate, Jason.” An offended tone threatened to bleed into the tired monotone that had coated his words so often lately.

Jason answered with a quirked eyebrow of his own. “Oh, were you taught meditation by a three-thousand year old monk in a secret magical chamber in the mountains specifically for the purpose of tempering Lazarus rage?”

Tim opened his mouth and closed it again. “Touché,” he conceded. His mouth twitched up at the corner ever so slightly, surprising the hell out of Jason. Was that almost a smile?

“Something funny?” he asked, probing every so slightly, cautiously teasing.

“You just reminded me of Dick a little. The first thing he ever taught me as Robin was meditation, and the first thing he said about it was,  _ ‘Rule one, don’t question me.’” _ He deepened his voice a little, taking on a perfect imitation of Dick.

Jason rolled his eyes. “That sounds like Goldie, all right.” He wondered if the kid realized he’d just talked about Dickie without getting his feathers ruffled. Superboy had evidently been a good distraction. This was good news. Something like hope stirred beneath his ribs.

He gave Tim’s knee a pat. “Come on. It’ll be good practice to do this while your brain is still reeling from today.”

Jason had been thinking about this since the minute he saw that matching white streak in Tim’s hair. About how to help him learn to control the rage. Jason didn’t  _ know _ exactly how he controlled it himself, if he was honest. He didn’t have some kind of defined  _ technique _ to center himself that he could just stand up in front of a friggin’ yoga class and teach. He’d just...learned to shove the green down. It had taken  _ years. _

But…

His time with the All-Caste...it  _ had _ helped a little, in the early days. Ducra had taught him—well.  _ Taught _ was a stretch.  _ Beaten _ was a more apt term. She’d bonked him over the head with a hefty stick enough times that he’d eventually absorbed  _ some _ things that he could  _ maybe _ impart to Tim. But Jason wasn’t a teacher. He’d needed time to  _ think, _ to collect those pit-addled, tumultuous memories into something that he could put into words that would actually make sense enough for Tim to make use of. Hell, the kid could probably make better use of Ducra’s teachings than Jason himself. He was much smarter, much more disciplined than Jason could ever hope to be.

So that’s what he’d been doing while Tim slept and ate and recovered. He’d been thinking.

His memory was spotty at the best of times. He could only say with surety that his brain had finally started to retain things more normally a while after he’d come back to Gotham, once the green had quieted a bit—but he’d managed to scrape together enough of his brain matter to piece together some things that Ducra had taught him.

He led Tim to the large room the Outlaws had converted into a gym and motioned for him to sit across from him on the large practice mat in the center of the room. Tim sat and crossed his legs. He was wearing another pair of Roy’s sweats and Jason made a mental note to get the kid some real clothes soon.

“So what  _ do _ you know about meditation? Who have you learned from?” Jason began.

“Bruce, mostly. Dick. Shiva taught me a little.” His jaw twitched. “Ra’s.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Ra’s? After the—”

“No. Before. Not...it wasn’t Lazarus-specific meditation. Just part of training.”

Jason nodded. “Techniques?”

Jason couldn’t help notice that the kid lapsed into his Red Robin voice as he spoke. Reporting. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Bruce taught me to slow my heart rate to undetectable levels so I can appear dead if I need to. Also slows blood loss. I can quiet my thoughts enough to focus my hearing more precisely than a normal person, but I can only do that when my adrenaline is up. I can meditate to block out input I don’t need and focus on retaining the information I want for perfect recall later. Ra’s taught me meditation meant to help my body enter a healing state so my muscles heal more quickly to reduce the time I need to take off between training sessions.”

Jason nodded along. “Good. That all makes for a good foundation, but none of it is exactly what we’re looking for.

“I’ll be honest. The method I’m going to teach you never really worked very well for me. Nothing  _ really _ did. But I was so much more...volatile back then. You’re older than I was, more mature. And a lot less angry before you took a dip than I ever was. I think you’ll be able to utilize this better than I could.

“Use the method Bruce taught you to slow your heart rate. Don’t  _ opossum _ yourself, just chill out, slow everything down. Maybe do Ra’s’ healing thing, whichever works better. Then I want you to trigger the green.”

Tim had already closed his eyes and started to slow his breathing as Jason spoke, but his eyes shot open at those last words. “You want me to  _ what?” _

“Trigger a Lazarus episode,” he said patiently, his gaze steady.

“On  _ purpose? _ Are you  _ insane?” _

Jason shrugged. “Sometimes. That’s what they called me in Arkham.”

Tim winced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

Jason waved him off with a soft snort. “It’s fine, Timmers, guilt-tripping bats is a reflex. I’ll try to tone it down with you.”

“You really want me to do that? To trigger it on purpose?” Tim’s eyes were wide and uncertain. Vulnerable. Jason felt a twinge of...fear? Responsibility. Obligation. Tim looked like a scared kid in over his head. Like his scared little brother. Fuck.

Jason nodded a little too hard, shaking the weird protective thoughts away. “It’s just you and me here. You haven’t done any serious damage to me so far. I can take care of myself. No offense, you’re badass and all—ten times better than I was at your age, and I’ll never admit to saying that so don’t you dare repeat it—but I’ve taken on worse than you on my own, Tiny Tim. You don’t have anything to worry about here.”

Tim just looked thoughtful, like he was puzzling out a complicated math problem. “How does triggering it help? Isn’t the whole point to learn  _ not _ to trigger it?”

Jason held up a hand. “That’s exactly the point. Hang on, I’m getting to that. Let me explain.”

He was quiet for a minute, gathering his thoughts. “Ducra—she’s the crazy old monk I mentioned before—and I used to do this back in the day. She would have me enter a deep meditative state and then reach for the green, trigger it, let it fill you up. The idea behind it is that you can learn where it sits in your body, where the center of the Lazarus is. Familiarize yourself with it, learn its ebb and flow. ‘Become one with the rage, Pup,’ she’d say. I don’t know, it was all very Yoda, but…” He shrugged. “It kind of helped at first. If all you ever do is fight the rage you’ll never learn anything about it. It’s a part of you now, it’s inside of you whether you like it or not. Learning to understand it gives you a better chance at learning to control it.

“Actually learning to control it from there was my problem, but I have a feeling it won’t be as much of one for you.”

Tim let out a deep, shaky breath. “That actually sounds...reasonable.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

Jason quirked his mouth in sad amusement. “When is anything in our lives  _ ever _ easy, kid?”

Tim huffed one of his quiet almost-laughs and rubbed his face. “I don’t think I can do this today, though. You’re right that now’s a good time. It would be good to practice quieting my mind when I’m so...worked up about Kon leaving. But,” He shook his head and licked his lips. “I’m just tired. I don’t think I can handle the green again this soon.”

Jason nodded and gave half a shrug. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe after you’ve recovered physically a little more, I guess. At least meditate. It’ll help. Don’t worry about the rest yet.”

Tim inclined his head gratefully. Jason was about to get up to leave when Tim spoke again. There was a nervousness to his voice, like he was unsure he should be saying whatever it was he was about to say.

“You know before, how I said Dick taught me about meditation? There was something he said to me that day. I was getting everything wrong and I said I had thought it was going to be easy. He said “So did Jason. Only he  _ never _ learned better.”

Ouch. Jason held still, refusing to let the sting show in his features. Tim’s words weren’t meant to hurt. The kid was obviously plowing towards some kind of point so Jason just let him talk.

Tim looked Jason in the face, a naked earnestness in the way he stood, the way he held his hands, the set of his brow. “But that was before you came back. And he was wrong. They were all wrong. The whole time I was training to be Robin it was ‘Jason this and Jason that.’ They tried to use you as a cautionary tale, but they were wrong, Jay.”

A sad laugh bubbled it’s way out of Jason’s mouth unbidden. “They really weren’t, kid. I was his ‘greatest failure,’ remember?” He didn’t mean to interrupt. Tim needed to finish whatever thought this was.

Tim shook his head passionately. “No, Jay. You really weren’t. All the  _ shit _ you went through, and look at you. You came out the other side intact. You made a name for yourself, you do  _ good. _ Don’t sell yourself short.  _ They were wrong about you, _ Jason.” He seemed to deflate a bit after the words left his mouth, his sudden passionate rhapsody complete.

God. How could someone who’d been through so much still seem so naive? Maybe, though—something tugged at Jason’s insides. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and willed the feelings that were welling up in him back down. He stood up abruptly. “Okay, that’s enough of that, now.” He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his eyes to Tim and then back down. He turned to leave, then turned back around hesitantly. He—the kid was so  _ earnest. _ He couldn’t just leave it at that. He— “Thanks.” The words spilled out like a soft prayer, his gravelly voice quiet. Then he spun stiffly on his heel and left Tim sitting alone on the mat.

——

Tim came out of the gym a few hours later, feeling calmer and more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a long time. Meditating hadn’t been easy—there was too much going on in his head right now and it had taken much longer than it should have to get his mind under control—but it had helped.

He blinked a little blearily at the bright lights in the common room and wondered distantly if maybe he hadn’t actually dozed off there for a while.

Either way, he felt better.

Jason was sitting on the couch, curled up on the couch with his nose buried in a book. He looked up when Tim came into the room. “Hey kid. How’d it go?”

Tim took stock of himself, feeling the new lightness that tingled comfortably in his limbs. “Good, actually. I feel a little better.”

Jason grinned. It was genuine, not the cruel, manic one Tim had seen on his face so often in the past. “Good. Baby steps, yeah? You hungry?”

Tim frowned and rubbed absently at his stomach. “No, I’m kinda feeling a little queasy actually. I ate earlier.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What did you eat?”

“Uh. A sandwich. Turkey. Veggies.” Why did he feel like he was talking to Alfred all of a sudden?

Jason sighed and Tim could almost see the shadow of an English butler flickering over his features. Uncanny. “That’s way too much variety all at once, dingus. No wonder you feel sick.”

Tim waved him off, plopping down on the other end of the couch heavily. “Yeah, yeah. I could hear your voice in my head while I was making the damn thing, mom, I don’t need to hear it again.”

Jason didn’t respond and Tim could see him out of the corner of his eye just...looking at him, a weird half smile on his face. Tim turned to stare back. “What?”

Jason shook his head. “Nothin’. Just seems like you really are feeling better.”

Tim leaned back on the couch and drew his knees up to his chest. He didn’t let the hope that was knocking cautiously on the door to his insides in. Not yet. Way too soon. Way. “For now, anyway.” He nodded at the huge TV on the wall across from the couch. Roy’s idea, no doubt. Jason had never seemed like much of a TV guy, especially if the book in his hands was a clue. “Do the infamous Outlaws have a gaming console anywhere in their Mostly Secret Hideout?”

Jason tilted his head like a cat that had suddenly noticed a mouse skittering across the floorboards. “Are you saying you want me to kick your ass at Mario Kart?”

Tim’s almost-smile stretched a little further toward an actual one. “You can  _ try.” _

——

The next few days were pretty much the same. Tim ate, slept, meditated. Ate, slept, meditated. He talked Jason into letting him work out some—not that he needed  _ permission, _ he was eighteen goddamn years old and Jason was  _ not _ his dad or his  _ Alfred— _ and he realized very quickly how out of shape he’d let himself get. Sure, it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the ridiculous weight loss, the shrinking muscle mass, but he’d kind of expected that since he’d rested and was finally eating again that his stamina would have come back a little. He’d been wrong. He could walk around the ship and the beach just fine, and maybe he felt a little tired after a particularly long walk, but any more exertion than that left him panting and shaking like a newborn colt.

“It’ll come back kid, you just gotta be patient.” Jason Todd preaching about patience? It took so much self control for Tim not to bite back at  _ that _ one. He considered it to be an excellent exercise in self control, actually. “Don’t push yourself so soon. At least wait until your calories aren’t restricted anymore. You can’t build muscle until your body can handle food again.”

He wasn’t wrong, logistically-speaking. So maybe Tim snuck a  _ little _ more food than he was supposed to have. He was keeping up with his supplements, it wasn’t  _ that _ much of a risk. Jason tended to be—and this came as an absolute  _ shock _ to Tim—overly cautious. He was seeing more and more of what was maybe the  _ real _ Jason Todd more and more these days. Patience, care, caution? He really didn’t know Jay as well as he had thought, did he?

But Tim was just so  _ impatient _ to get back into shape. The Justice League would need his help finding Bruce. He already had plans to muscle his way into their search, even  _ if _ they didn’t ask for his help. There was no way he’d let them do it without him. Bruce was  _ his _ to find. His to rescue. He couldn’t leave that up to anyone else, not even the JLA.

He was getting antsy. No one had reached out to him or Jason. Not Dick, not Oracle, not the JLA. It had been...a week? Over a week, he thought, since he’d sent them the files. His internal clock was still weirdly off—time could be a little fuzzy in his head sometimes. But it had been at least a week, he knew that much.

And then  _ finally _ the call came.

Tim was lying on the practice mat doing slow, steady sit ups and Jason was in the corner lifting weights when Jason’s phone rang. They both started at the sound and Jason jumped to answer it, hurriedly setting the weights back in their place.

“Dick?” Jason answered, his eyes meeting Tim’s as he spoke.

Tim’s chest clenched, but he closed his eyes and controlled his breathing. He hadn’t been able to force himself to practice Jason’s suggested methods of control yet, but he had been meditating regularly, and he fell into the rhythm of controlled breathing more easily now. It helped stave off the sparks of green behind his eyes.

After he got his heart rate under control he tuned back into Jason and Dick’s conversation.

“I’m gonna be the bigger man here and not say I fucking told you so. I’ll let Timmy do that if he ever speaks to you again.” The muscles in Jason’s jaw jumped, painfully tense.

Tim pushed himself to his feet and took a step towards Jason, straining in vain to hear the other side of the conversation.

Jason listened to Dick speak for a while before he spoke again. His eyes flicked to Tim, then back away. A nervous tell. Tim really needed to hear what Dick was saying. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s...not a good time for that yet.”

Tim’s ears perked up. They were talking about him. Jason’s awkward wording meant he was trying to avoid using any pronouns or names, but Tim saw through it. “What is he saying?” Tim hissed.

Jason ignored him. “No, I understand, I’m just saying we have to be careful. We do this  _ my _ way or not at all.”

Do  _ what _ his way? Tim leaned forward. “Jason? Did they find him? What’s going on?” Did they find Bruce? Did they find him?

Jason shook his head meaningfully but didn’t respond further. Tim felt his shoulders droop in disappointment. “I’ll talk to the kid,” Jason continued. “We’ll work it out.”

He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket, an infuriating silence settling in in the aftermath of the conversation.

_ “What did he say?” _ Tim asked, exasperation making him breathless.

Jason’s next words were slow, careful. “Dick looked into your files,” he said. “So did the Oracle and the Justice League. They seem convinced. They’re putting together a team.”

It was like all the tension that had been building up in Tim’s body over the last...however many months left him all at once. He swayed with the abruptness of it and Jason lunged forward to put a steadying hand on his elbow, brow knit in concern. “Jesus, kid, you good?”

Tim swallowed hard and nodded numbly. “I—yeah. They—he’s alive? They really believe me?”

Jason huffed a gentle laugh. “Yeah. All your hard work paid off, kid. They’re gonna go find him.”

Tim’s knees wobbled at those words and Jason cursed, grabbing at Tim’s other elbow and lowering his suddenly boneless weight down onto the mat. “Oookay, Timbo, let’s just sit down for a minute.”

“They believe me,” he repeated dazedly. Everything suddenly felt far away as all other thoughts in Tim’s head faded away to leave behind one singular phrase.  _ They believe me. They believe me. _ It pulsed like a delirious drum beat in his brain.

“Kid, do you need some juice or something? Are you going into shock? You’re kinda freaking me out here.” Jason was trying for a light joking tone but it just came off as anxious.

Tim blinked and shook his head, scattered thoughts trying to coalesce into something more focused. His mouth was dry and he licked at his lips. “I’m fine. I’m okay, I just—it’s just...a lot.” He cleared his throat and felt his neck flush in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m okay.”

Jason’s words caught up with him at that second and he started. “Wait! A team. You said they’re putting together a team. Did they ask for me? What did Dick say exactly?”  _ His _ investigation. A team. A team he needed to be a part of.  _ His. _

Jason gave a disappointed sigh and Tim narrowed his eyes. Jason had apparently hoped Tim wouldn’t pry for details. Shows what he knew.

Their words tripped and tumbled over each other’s, a whirlwind kicked up from stubbornness and determination colliding.

“They want your help. Obviously. But I don’t think you should—”

“When are they meeting? I need to find better clothes so I can—”

“Wait, just hold on a second, you barely—”

“You’re  _ not _ going to stop me Jason, I—”

“Of course not, I can’t tell you what to do but—”

“Good, then tell me where you keep your boat or plane or helicopter or whatever you use to get off of this island so I can—”

“Will you just let me  _ talk _ for a—”

“I’m  _ done _ talking, I’m  _ done _ with people trying to hold me back from this, I’m  _ done _ not being in control, I’m  _ done _ with being  _ alone, _ I’m  _ done—” _

Suddenly Tim’s vision was being blocked and there was tight pressure around his body and it took him a second to realize that Jason had pulled him into a tight hug and was letting out a steady stream of reassurances. Tim took a deep, shuddering breath and  _ oh _ he had been hyperventilating and there was green clouding his vision but it was starting to recede now.

“It’s okay, no one’s stopping you, you have all the control here, Tim. You hear me? You’re in control, no one’s taking that away from you.” Jason’s tone had taken on an odd inflection that Tim was slowly starting to recognize as  _ worry. _

Tim took another deep breath and relaxed into the hug. He gripped the back of Jason’s shirt and murmured into his chest. “No one believed me, Jay. Everyone thought I was crazy and I’m not letting anyone else run this team. I can’t trust anyone else to do this right. It has to be me. Bruce is counting on me. It has to be me.” He repeated it like an obsessive mantra. It had to be him. He couldn’t trust anyone else. Not with Bruce’s life. It had to be him.

“Okay. Okay, it’s okay. I’m not trying to stop you. We just need to talk, okay? Just let me talk for a second?” Pleading. Another tone he would never associate with the Red Hood.

Tim nodded and pulled back from the hug, reluctantly ready to listen, if only because of the disorientation of yet another instance of a jarring incongruity that was tilting his world on its axis a bit when it came to what he thought he knew about Jason.

“Look, you can do what you want, but I’m going to say my piece here. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to leave yet. If you end up in a room with the Justice League I  _ know _ you’re going to end up following them when they go to get Bruce and that is  _ not _ a good idea. You’re nowhere near recovered enough for active duty. If you’re going to help with this investigation, I think it would be a good idea for you to do it remotely.”

Tim was shaking his head before Jason even finished. He’d already heard the echo of Batman’s voice in his head and promptly ignored it.  _ You’re compromised, Robin. Fall back and recuperate. You’re a liability in this state. _ Nope. If there was one thing a Robin was good at, it was going against Batman’s orders when it meant saving the man’s neck. “Can’t. I need access to the League’s computer system. Whatever you have on this ship won’t have the computing power I’m going to need for this. I’m also going to need their lab equipment. All I have right now is raw, basic data, I still need to analyze some of the samples I have in storage for Omega radiation and I can’t do that here, not even Ra’s had the right equipment, but I can—”

Jason held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he sighed. He knuckled an eye tiredly. “Look, can you just reassure me here? That you won’t try to force your way onto the rescue team? That you’ll keep your butt in a computer chair while the people with superpowers and three square meals in them do the heavy lifting?”

“Fine. Yes. I won’t try to leave with them,” Tim lied.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Justice League. Watchtower. BRUCE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured you guys deserved this chapter early since I've been taking so long between them lately. Only one more after this and then we move on to part 2. Make sure to subscribe to the series if you aren't already so you get updated when part 2 comes out. I'm also probably going to post some more shorts (I've already got a prequel posted covering Jason's time in Arkham that you should definitely go check out on the series page if you haven't already).

_ “Will you come with me?” he’d asked Jason. “To Watchtower?” He didn’t want to be alone there. With all of those eyes looking at him. Judging him. _

_ “You want me to beam myself to an airtight box in space full of people who want to put me in jail?” _

_ Tim winced. “I—Yeah, I guess I don’t really have the right to—” _

_ “Sounds like fun. Nothing like pissing off a bunch of jerks with golden sticks up their asses.” _

Tim was sitting at a long table, empty save for him and Jason. He shifted, trying to make himself comfortable in the new clothes Jason had picked up for him. The jeans he wore fit just fine, but he couldn’t help but feel that they were too tight and restrictive. The rough material chafed. It had been a  _ long _ time since he’d worn civilian clothes outside of Roy’s castoff sweats and they felt odd on his body.

He felt like an imposter.

Jason, too, was in civilian clothes. He’d wanted to come as Red Hood, but Tim had convinced him not to. His mere presence at Watchtower was enough to risk stirring the hornet’s nest. Mitigation was the goal here and the hood, the armor, and the guns would do the opposite.

Tim stared off into literal space, trying to quiet his buzzing thoughts. At the far side of the room was a wall full of floor-to-ceiling windows and if Tim squinted from his seat he could see Africa passing by on the Earth beneath them.

He bounced his leg nervously. Aside from the villagers he’d mostly tried to avoid while he wandered around Qurac, he was about to be surrounded by more people than he’d seen at once since he’d died.

He reminded himself that this was the Justice League—Watchtower was probably one of the safest places for him to be if the green struck. This room was about to be full of gods; he was  _ nothing _ here.

He amended that thought. He could probably take down a  _ few _ of them if he really tried. Definitely Oliver Queen. Hal too, provided he could get the ring off. Billy wasn’t all that hard to outsmart either, if he could get him to revert back to his unpowered form… 

He shook those thoughts away. Probably  _ not _ a great idea to preemptively plan the defeat of his allies. Not that he didn’t have contingencies for most of them on his hit list already, anyway. But no, focus.

Still. Queen for  _ sure. _

God, he was spending too much time with Jason.

All of those thoughts ground to a screeching halt as the door opened and the first League member stepped through. Tim tensed and he felt Jason’s hand come up to grip his shoulder reassuringly.

Blue and red, the quiet swish of a cape. Tim was relieved that Superman was the first to show. Relieved but also apprehensive. Clark was the least likely to react badly to Tim’s new appearance and its implications—there was a very high likelihood that some of the people he was here to meet today wouldn’t take kindly to the idea that Tim had obviously been involved with Ra’s al Ghul—but Superman had always been like an uncle to the Robins and that mean that he would take this news more personally than anyone else here. Tim was sick of people’s concern, and he was waiting for that inevitable reaction with bated breath. As that knee-jerk reaction of relief twisted into something closer to anxiety in his stomach he thought faintly that maybe he would have preferred someone else first after all.

Superman’s steps halted when his eyes fell on Tim. Surprise flickered over his chiseled features. Conner had kept his word, then—he hadn’t told anyone. Blue eyes flicked back and forth between Jason and Tim and Superman’s strong shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Oh, Tim,” he said quietly, his brown pinching in distress.

God, Tim was never going to get used to this kind of reaction. He hated it. Hated the pity.

Tim cleared his throat. His voice was clear and professional. The Red Robin uniform may have been gone, but it was still Red Robin that was sitting here now. It was his voice that came out of Tim’s mouth. “Hello, Superman.”

“Tim, what—”

Tim held up a hand, a polite interruption. His thin, pale hand was naked of his glove and gauntlet, but his bare skin still held the same authority. “We aren’t here to talk about me. I’d rather keep this meeting professional.”

Superman closed his mouth and, after a moment of deliberation, nodded. He shifted his attention to Jason and his back and shoulders stiffened minutely. His expression smoothed into the professionalism Tim had asked for, but skewed a bit  _ too _ cold.

“Jason,” he greeted, his voice every bit as cordial as was necessary and every bit hollow.

Tim’s brow pinched slightly, and he tilted his head, recalculating the situation. He hadn’t anticipated this reaction from Clark. He hadn’t even thought about whether Superman and Red Hood had interacted since Jason’s return. Jason had bristled with bravado at the idea of coming to Watchtower, but Tim mentally kicked himself for not thinking about how Jason would  _ really _ feel to be confronted by the JLA—his childhood heroes, his adopted father’s friends, some of them like a second family to Bruce. Had Jason seen any of them since he’d come back from the dead?

Apparently he  _ had _ seen Superman. Uh oh. Tim peeked over at Jason out of the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction. A snarky, lopsided grin crept over Jason’s face. “Clark! Long time no see. Still ‘making a mess of my life’, in case you were wondering, thanks for asking. Ready to try and arrest me again?”

Double uh oh.

Clark’s expression remained neutral but a muscle in his jaw twitched. “I did  _ not _ try and arrest you. And there would have been no ‘try’ about it, had I the inclination at the time.”

Jason shrugged, the shit-eating grin still on his face. “Maybe not, but you sure  _ wanted _ to. I’m up for a rematch, just say the word.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a  _ match _ even  _ if _ you somehow finally figure out how to use that Altrailian Starbuster properly.” There was a bit of a bite to his voice now, though he still kept a professional stance.

Tim blinked stupidly, his neck creaking in protest as he switched his attention rapidly between the two men, trying to figure what the  _ hell _ he’d missed. What the hell was an  _ Altrailian Starbuster? _

“Are you two seriously having a dick measuring contest right now?” Red Robin slipped out of his voice. “Jay. He’s  _ Superman.” _

Jason ignored Tim, instead crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Superman. “Yeah, well.” He paused, obviously struggling for a comeback. “My dad could beat you up.”

Smooth, Jay.

Tim slapped his hand to his face with an audible  _ smack _ and groaned. He was going to have an aneurysm. Right here at this table. “Oh my god, Jay. Sit down.”

Tim didn’t miss the dad comment, though. Had he just referred to  _ Bruce _ as his  _ dad? _ Tim filed that way for later. God, this family had so much shit they needed to talk about.

He wasn’t wrong, though. Bruce could  _ totally _ beat the snot out of Clark if he really wanted to.

Clark took his seat at the head of the table and the rest of the Justice League filed in shortly after. As much as Tim would have liked to keep his eyes on the floor while the others entered the room, Bat training demanded that he be hypervigilant at all times, especially when in a room full of people that could each kill him with the flick of a finger. So he took in every detail of every person that came to sit at the table with a clinical precision and stored the information away in his mind to be used whenever he might need it. He couldn’t ignore the wide variety of reactions that each member gave him (though none of them, to his relief, tried to speak to him as Clark had), but he could at least detach his emotions from the situation and look at things from a cold, logical standpoint. He took each of their reactions—body language, facial expressions—and condensed them down to file into five categories.

Pity. Wonder Woman. Donna Troy. Huntress. Cyborg. Black Canary. 

Curiosity and confusion. Flash. Atom. Jesse Quick. Booster Gold. Shazam.

Indifference. Jade. Rip Hunter. Starman. Doctor Light.

Wariness. Green Lantern. 

Outright suspicion. Green Arrow. 

There was one member whose reaction he wasn’t sure of at all. Was that a giant gorilla?  _ He _ was new. Tim wasn’t even going to try with that guy.

“Thank you all for coming,” Superman began. “Some of you are already aware of the situation, but I’ll recap for those of you who aren’t already in the loop. We’re here to discuss Batman. The  _ original _ Batman, I should say,” he corrected himself. “We have recently been given evidence that suggests that he is in fact alive, and that the body that we buried was not his. It seems that the energy beam that struck him did not kill him. Rather, it sent him through space-time. He is currently, apparently, trapped in the time stream.”

Several voices rose up in response to this revelation, but Superman held up a commanding hand, silencing them.

“For those of you who are not familiar with the two young men seated here with us today, let me introduce Timothy Drake-Wayne, currently operating as Red Robin, formerly the third Robin; and Jason Todd, currently operating as Red Hood, formerly the second Robin.”

The latter information was apparently not common knowledge, as a cacophony of voices rose up again, this time ignoring Superman’s silencing hand.

“Red Hood was a  _ Robin?” _

“Wait a second, doesn’t this guy kill people? Why aren’t we throwing him in jail right now?”

“The second Robin? I thought he was dead. Man, does  _ anyone _ around here ever  _ stay _ dead?”

“Wow,  _ he _ sure grew up pretty.”

The conniving grin reappeared on Jason’s face at the attention and he responded to each exclamation in turn. “Yes, that was me, the best Robin; just  _ try it _ you Peter Pan wannabe; was dead, got better; and uh...thanks Atom.”

“Ray. Call me.”

“What is he doing here, anyway?”

Superman cleared his throat loudly and the room quieted down again. “Jason is here to help—”

“I’m Tim’s emotional support vigilante,” Jason said cheerily.

Tim’s face was in both of his hands and the miserable sounds that were coming out of him were probably setting off little sparks of brotherly glee in Jason’s stupid, impish heart.

Superman sighed. _ “Moving on, _ Timothy is the one who discovered that Bruce is alive. He’s been gathering intel over the last several months. Tim, would you like to take it from here?”

Tim removed his face from his hands and straightened up, professionalism leaking back into his demeanor. He took a breath and nodded. “Thank you, Superman.” Tim sat up even straighter and slid into his Tim Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises persona. “Over the last six months, I followed Batman’s traces. Like he taught me. I found Bat-symbols carried back across the Siberian land bridge into Europe by North American Cavemen and built into 19th century gardens. All the clues led me to a relic...Nomex fire resistant fabric, a kevlar hood with built-in electronics—it survived  _ 40 thousand years _ in a cave so it’s incredibly fragile, but I found a way to bring it out for close analysis. Omega Sanction radiation. The Omega Beam that hit Batman didn’t kill him, it propelled him into the time stream. He’s hurtling through time at an unpredictable rate, but I think I’ve gathered enough data points to help us figure out where and when we can retrieve him. I’ve relinquished all of the information I’ve gathered to the Justice League. Nightwing and Oracle have gathered evidence of their own, as well. I believe Oracle has sent over her files.”

Superman nodded. “She has. Thank you, Tim.” He turned to Rip Hunter. “Can it be done, Dr. Hunter? Can he be located?”

Rip nodded slowly. “I’ll have to see the data for myself before I can say for sure, but I haven’t heard anything that makes me think it can’t be. It won’t be easy, but nothing ever is with you lot.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hunter. I’d like to get started right away. We’ll put together a field team that—”

“I want to lead the field team,” Tim interjected.

Superman raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but Jason spoke first. He put a hand on Tim’s arm. He kept his voice low. “Tim. You  _ promised.” _

“No offense, Red Robin,” Hal Jordan said, “but you look like a strong breeze could knock you over. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m guessing you’re probably not even supposed to be out of bed right now.”

Tim ground his teeth. “I’m fine. He’s  _ my _ partner. He needs me to be there when we find him.  _ I _ did the legwork on this.  _ Six months, _ I’ve been looking for him.  _ Alone. _ When  _ you all _ abandoned him. This is  _ my _ investigation.”

“Not anymore, it isn’t.” Barry Allen, this time. His tone was soft, but unyielding. “I know he’s practically your dad, Tim, but he’s also one of us. We’re  _ all _ in this now. Hal’s right. Look, we all know you’re more than capable to lead this mission; most of us have seen you in action. I also know that you know better than anyone that Bruce has a stubborn streak from Hell, and it looks like it’s rubbed off on you. You know he has a bad habit of pushing himself too hard, so I’m sure you understand where we’re coming from, here—don’t do the same to yourself. It doesn’t help anyone.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Timothy,” Black Canary said gently. “We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. Bruce would be proud. You took care of the hard part, let us take it from here.”

Green tinged the edges of Tim’s vision. How dare they try to stop him? How dare they try to take this from him? He wasn’t a child who needed to be coddled. He knew when he was field-ready and when he wasn’t. Bruce  _ needed _ him. He wasn’t going to let them push him out of this.

Out of nowhere, his vision blurred and his stomach lurched. He blinked, and there was red and blue filling his green-tinted vision. He found himself pressed up against Superman’s chest.

He shoved himself back, stumbling.  _ “Get off,” _ he growled. He noticed distantly through the green haze that he was no longer in the meeting room. Superman had grabbed him and taken him out of there in the blink of an eye. This room was completely bare of any furniture or equipment. The floor and walls were padded with gymnastics foam. Some kind of training area.

“Tim?” Clark’s face was twisted with concern. “Are you alright? What can I do?”

_ “Leave me alone,” _ Tim rasped, his breaths coming in ragged pants. “I don’t need your help. Just go—go away.”

“Please let me help you. Tell me how I can help, Tim.”

Tim reached up and grabbed handfuls of hair into his fists. His nails dug into his scalp. “I don’t need—just…” He swallowed, trying to push the green down enough to think. “Can you...can you get Jay?” His voice betrayed him, cracking towards the end.

Another blink and Jay was next to him, stumbling a bit with the abruptness of his arrival. His hand covered his mouth and he looked pale.  _ “Glurgh,” _ he gagged. “Never do that again. I hate super speed.” He turned his focus to Tim.

“Hey kid, you with me?”

Tim was trying and failing to control his breathing.  _ “Jay,” _ he gasped. “I can’t.”

Jason turned to Clark. “Get out.”

“But I want to h—”

_ “Get out. _ You’ll just make it worse.”

Tim didn’t see Superman leave, but there was a whoosh of air and then Jay was filling his vision. "Listen, to me,” he said, his voice level. “Just let go, kid. You can’t hurt anyone here, okay? Just ride it out. Everything will be okay. You don’t have to worry about fighting it right now.”

He couldn’t hurt anyone here? Right. Right, it was only Leaguers here. And Jay. But Superman would protect Jay if he had to.

So he stopped fighting it. It was hopeless anyway. Instead he reached for it, like dipping his fingers in a pool of lava and sinking in to find its center. The rage filled his lungs and roared in his ears. It rushed through his veins like Greek fire, burning away his sense of self until he couldn’t even feel his body, just white hot fury and he  _ screamed. _ The cry must have shredded his throat, but he couldn’t feel it. All he felt was the cathartic release of giving into the rage, of letting it consume him and spitting some of it back out at the world.

And now that he wasn’t channeling all of his attention on fighting the green he found the small bit of focus he needed to remember to concentrate on regulating his breathing. Somehow through that haze of madness he was able to stop himself from giving in to the nigh-uncontrollable urge for violence. He focused on his panicked breaths, focused on his thundering heartbeat and just let the rage burn through him.

An inordinate amount of time passed like that. Tim couldn’t remember where he was, didn’t know if he was standing, sitting, laying, didn’t know up from down, but he knew that he was still, that he wasn’t letting the green control his actions. It was just Tim, the green, and no one else. Just breathing and waiting for it to pass.

When his awareness started to filter through again, he discovered, with relief, that he was still in the training room. He lay sweating on the floor, turned on his side, just letting his ragged breaths slow until he could hear through the blood rushing in his ears.

When he recovered enough to trust himself to move, he lifted his head weakly. Jason sat in the corner, looking a little stunned. Their eyes met, and Jason’s widened in relief when he saw that the spark of lucidity had returned to Tim’s eyes. “That was…” Jason let out a breath. “That was a bad one.” Jason licked dry lips, and looked to be searching carefully for his next words.

“It was hard for me, too, in the beginning. The rage, the—the  _ green _ is strong, so fresh from the Pit. It gets better—the effects fade with time, I think. At least they did for me. It won’t be so hard, eventually. Seriously, kid, you did great, that was some  _ incredible _ control. I never could have done that so soon. I knew you’d be good at handling this.”

Tim let out a hoarse, bitter laugh, letting his head drop back onto the foam mat beneath him. “Is that what I’m doing? Handling it?”

Jason nodded emphatically.  _ “Yes. _ Do you have any idea the kind of things  _ I _ did when I had a bad episode like that? Kid, I went on murderous rampages. You just managed to—to  _ sit still. _ That’s...I don’t think even  _ Ra’s _ has that kind of control after a fresh dip.”

Control? Was that what that was? It hadn’t felt that way. It had felt like...like giving up. Like surrender. “I just...I just did what you said. I gave into it. I stopped fighting.”

“But you  _ didn’t. _ Not really. You just...Think of it more like you changed strategies. Found a different way to fight.” He shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug. “Honestly, I didn’t think that would work so soon. I thought it would take—well. Longer than  _ that _ for you to even have  _ some _ semblance of control.”

Tim rubbed at his face, pushing sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He was tired. So tired. He’d take a regular old shaky adrenaline crash over the post-Lazarus episode exhaustion any day. He looked around the empty room.“Do you...do you think anyone heard that?”

“Uh. Yeah, I don’t think anyone could have missed that, kid. Sorry.” Jason craned his neck to look around, his eyes sweeping over dark corners, seams, nooks, crannies. “I’m sure there’s surveillance in this room so that’s probably why no one burst in here heroically thinking I was murdering you. Plus Supes is probably being a creep and watching and listening through the walls.” He threw a pointed glare toward the door.

Tim winced and rubbed at his face again, this time in mild exasperation. “Will you quit with the self-deprecating jokes, Jay?” God he was  _ so _ tired.

Jason shrugged. “Wasn’t joking. You think these people trust me? Outlaw, remember? I’m honestly surprised I was allowed in the building. I bet if I tried to go to the bathroom without an escort I’d end up in the deepest darkest cell they have. Not to make this all about me or anything.”

Tim huffed. If he was honest, he was grateful for the distracting conversation. “You know, you could earn their trust again. If you wanted.”

Jason snorted, pushing himself up from the floor and stretching out his back. “No thanks. I want no part in their holier-than-thou crusade bullshit.”

Tim frowned. He found himself blinking heavily. “They’re not so bad, you know. You liked them once-upon-a-time. I’ve seen...your old room in the...Manor. You had action figures. You had...had a  _ Wonder Woman poster.” _

“You little snoop.” There was no heat in the words.

Talking was becoming harder. Tim felt like he was slogging through molasses just lying still on the floor. His mouth muscles were tired. His tongue was exhausted. He forced himself to talk, though. He needed to say something. Jason needed to hear this. He let himself rest his eyes while he spoke. He may have been slurring a bit. “I’m just sayin’. You...looked up to them once. Just ‘cause you’ve grown up...and discover’d that they’re jus’ people doesn’t mean they aren’t  _ good _ people. At the v’ry least you have to...admit it would be...nice not to worry about any of them coming...after you someday.” He sighed with relief when the last of the words fell from his thick tongue.

Jason shook his head. “Pass.”

Tim huffed a sleepy breath through his nose, his eyes still closed. “Stubborn.” He wasn’t sure the word really made it out of his mouth all the way. He felt a callused hand brush through his sweat-matted hair.

“Take a nap, kid. I’ll try not to get arrested grabbing you some coffee.”

Thoughts were slipping through Tim’s fingers like Quraci sand, but he managed to cling on to one thought as he drifted.

_ Coffee. _

——

Jason’s thoughts were running away from him as he walked through the long corridors of the space station, searching for a room that looked like it might contain coffee, making sure to count his steps and memorize every turn so he could find his way back to Tim in this maze.

The kid’s fatigue-addled words bounced around obnoxiously in his skull.

_ You know, you could earn their trust again. If you wanted. _

He scoffed to himself. He didn’t  _ need _ anyone’s  _ trust. _ What good would  _ that _ do him? Trust was a liability, all it did was create a false sense of security. The more people he went around  _ trusting, _ the more likely he was to get betrayed and killed.

Sure, maybe that was a cynical way of looking at the world, but cynics lived longer. He’d already died once, he wasn’t keen on doing it again any time soon. That shit hurt.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, taking a corner and stalking down another long corridor.

_ They’re not so bad, you know. You liked them once-upon-a-time. _

Yeah, when he’d been  _ twelve. _ Young and naïve. He’d worshiped the ground the Justice League had walked on. He’d worshiped at Bruce’s feet like a good little disciple.

Then they’d tossed him in Arkham like any other crazed criminal.

Sure, maybe there had been some stuff in between, but the end result was what mattered. They all hated him, all wanted to toss him back into Arkham or Blackgate. He  _ wasn’t _ going back to Arkham. He’d die first. Blackgate, either. He wasn’t dying in that hellhole like his old man.

“Bunch of self-righteous, preachy…” he grumbled. 

Jason had to admit, it had stung when the big blue asshole had swooped in on the Outlaws and started making thinly-veiled threats to Jason. Jason hadn’t seen Superman since he was a kid, but...Tim was right. No matter how he felt now, as a kid he  _ had _ looked up to him. Admired the hell out of him. And Clark had always been so kind to him growing up, even though they hadn’t interacted much before his death. It hurt to see that the man he’d once seen as a distant uncle—a man who  _ was _ like an uncle to the other Robins—obviously saw him as nothing but another criminal. Scum to be swept into a dustpan and dumped into a dark cell where he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Jason had grown up a homeless kid in Gotham, he was  _ more _ than used to people seeing him that way—but he’d never  _ cared _ before. And he did care. Why the hell did he suddenly care?

Maybe...maybe the kid was right. Would it be better? If they didn’t all hate him?

He was startled from his thoughts when the man in question appeared in front of him with a quiet  _ whoosh. _ Goddamn he hated that shit.

“Where are you going?” Superman asked.

“None of your business,” Jason growled, shoving his way passed.

“I’m not letting you prowl around a top secret facility, Hood.” Oh, it was Hood now, was it? It had been Jason when Tim was in the room.

Jason spun back around, hackles rising. He could feel the green trying to claw its way up his throat, but he pushed it down back where it belonged. He wanted his anger to be all his own. “What are you going to do about it, Superdick? Huh?  _ Arrest me? _ I’m so scared.”

Before Superman could respond, another voice startled them both. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?” Martian Manhunter appeared, sliding quietly out of the wall between the two of them.

“J’onn,” Superman said, eyes widening in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon.”

The Martian shrugged. “I was becoming restless. I am not yet ready to return to duty, but I would like to be useful where I can.” He turned his head slightly, eying Jason thoughtfully before turning his attention back to Superman.

“You hurt him,” he said matter-of-factly.

Bile bubbled in Jason’s stomach. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and he didn’t like it.

“Excuse me?” Superman asked, honest confusion in his tone.

Martian Manhunter tilted his towards Jason, still holding Superman’s gaze. “The boy. Your words injured him.”

Superman blinked, looking over at Jason. “I...what?”

“This is none of your business, E.T.,” Jason growled. “Stay the fuck out of my head.” Fucking mind-readers. He hadn’t even  _ felt _ anything. He had  _ defenses _ for this kind of shit, how the hell had he not even noticed the intrusion into his head?

“My apologies,” Martian Manhunter. “You were thinking very loudly.”

Superman’s head swiveled back and forth between Jason and the Martian. “What is he talking about?” he asked Jason.

Jason rolled his eyes. “What, like you  _ care? _ Five seconds ago you were threatening me.”

“I was  _ not—” _ Superman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hood, I was not threatening you, but I can’t just let a man of dubious morals and unclear alliances—”

_ “Dubious morals, _ are you serious? You s—”

_ “Gentlemen,” _ Martian Manhunter interjected, holding up a single green hand. “Please. Allow me to mediate? I feel that I can add some valuable insight to the situation.”

Jason crossed his arms and resisted the urge to roll his eyes again childishly. “Whatever gets me out of this conversation quicker.” He pointed a finger at the Martian. “But stay. Out. Of my head.”

Martian Manhunter nodded. “Again, I apologize for the inadvertent intrusion, it will not happen again. I would, however, like to discuss a bit of what I glimpsed. I believe it will help you...get out of this conversation quicker.”

Oh great. They wanted to talk about his feelings. He had a  _ feeling _ they would be doing it whether he gave his permission or not. He was getting itchy, leaving Tim alone this long; better to just let them get this shit out and over with so he could walk away. “Fine,” he said through his teeth. Maybe the Martian hadn’t picked that much of his thoughts up, anyway.

Martian Manhunter nodded in thanks. “Clark,” he said calmly. “You knew Jason as a boy, did you not?”

Superman shrugged. “I did.”

“Barely,” Jason mumbled. Clark's brow pinched slightly at the comment.

“He looked up to you.” Oh great, this was embarrassing. “He still does.” Wait,  _ what? _

Jason uncrossed his arms and held up his hands defensively. “Uh, whoa there Roswell, where did  _ that _ come from? I was  _ definitely _ not thinking that.”

“Perhaps not on the surface, but it is obvious, nonetheless. You were ruminating on whether or not you would like to try and regain the trust of your heroes, as young Timothy suggested. You were realizing how much Clark’s open disdain for you hurt. He is not the man your childhood self expected him to be.”

“Hold on a second,  _ open disdain?” _ Clark asked. “There is no  _ disdain _ here, J’onn, I just don’t approve—”

Martian Manhunter held up a hand, abruptly quieting the Kryptonian. “Clark,” he said gently. “Do not embarrass yourself. Your dislike for the boy is obvious, even with your resistance to my telepathy. But as your long-time friend, I can see that you are conflicted. You are having difficulty seeing the boy who once saved your life in the man before you.

“While I concur that I also do not approve of his...methods of justice, I can see that Jason's  _ intentions _ are pure. He is a  _ good _ man, Clark, even though he himself cannot see that at times.” The last part was said with a pointed look in Jason’s direction. Jason was too stunned to respond.

“I believe that Jason Todd would be a good ally to have, Superman. That is my opinion, and that is my advice as your friend. Do with it what you will.”

With nothing but a kind look for both of them, Martian Manhunter faded back from wherever he had come.

_ Thinking loudly? _ Bullshit. That was a full-on brain analysis. Jason felt gross.

Jason stood across from Superman, arms crossed over his chest. They stared at each other for a beat. “So, tell me where I can get coffee and we can pretend this never happened.”

Superman cleared his throat and hastily pointed. “Third door to your right.”

——

Not long later, Jason woke Tim from his nap, filled the kid with coffee, and the JLA reconvened in the meeting room. Tim sat at his place at the table, tired eyes lowered. He was quieter this time around. Mercifully, no one mentioned his...incident and everyone carried on as though they had just taken a short coffee break.

Tim didn’t try to argue himself onto the team again.

He  _ did _ manage to muscle himself into the lead spot on the research team, though. He was the best choice there, and if he hadn’t tried to get the position himself,  _ Jason _ would have argued for him.

They discussed Tim’s data and he directed them to where he had stored the samples he’d taken with instructions on how to retrieve them.

With a plan in motion, Tim seemed to finally come back to himself. His back was straighter; his eyes brighter; his voice steadier, more confident. This wasn’t the cold, disconnect of him slipping into Red Robin. This was Tim Drake on a mission, and it was good to see.

Jason just hoped it would last.

——

It took a week. A week of Tim working nonstop. Jason couldn’t get him to sleep. Could barely get him to eat. Tim Drake on a mission was a pain in the ass.

Still. It was a sight better than he’d been when Jason had first found him.

Was that what Jason would have been like if he hadn’t had his rage to focus on? Lost, aimless? Waiting for the timer on his second chance at life to run out? Because that’s what Tim had been doing, Jason realized. In Qurac, when he’d thought he’d finished his mission, thought that Booster had got his message and that Bruce was on his way to being saved. He’d just been waiting to die again.

In a fucked up way, Jason was almost grateful to Talia. She’d manipulated Jason, wound him up and pointed him like a gun at his own family, but at least she’d given him  _ purpose. _

They stayed on Watchtower. Jason prowled restlessly through the halls, to the irritation of the League members. He hated this place. He felt like he was back in Arkham, trapped—enclosed spaces, stale air. The only thing that kept him from really panicking was the knowledge that he was  _ choosing _ to be here. He was here for Tim. He could leave anytime he wanted. He could walk these corridors anytime he wanted. There were no cells here, no cold, bare rooms, no straitjackets, no drugs. Just recycled air, smelling of ozone and plastic and metal; the vacuum of space outside the spacious windows; glaring superheroes; Tim clacking away at the computers, barking orders into the comms. Not like Arkham. Different.

But it was starting to become harder to convince himself of that, it was almost beginning to become too much when…

They found Bruce. They found him and they were bringing him home and Jason could breathe again.

——

They stood on the observation deck overlooking the hanger bay where Rip and the League would be... _ landing, _ for lack of a better term. A medical team waiting on standby, a gurney at the ready.

Tim wrung his hands nervously, his eyes on the gurney. “I think it might be better if I weren’t here. When they, um. When he comes back.”

Jason’s face scrunched into a weird mix of frustration and concern. It was a familiar expression on his face these days. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s—we don’t know what kind of condition he’s going to be in when he comes back. I don’t want to...upset him, if he’s...injured, or vulnerable…” Tim’s tone was subdued, defeated.

“What do you mean, how would you—” Then it dawned on him and his eyes flicked unconsciously to Tim’s hair. “Oh.”

The kid wasn’t exactly  _ wrong, _ but…

He let some of the heat that bubbled in his stomach touch his voice. “No, you know what? Fuck that. You deserve to see him. You’re the reason he’s being rescued at all. Bruce isn’t a damsel in distress. He can handle seeing you just fine.”

Tim shook his head. “I can’t risk that. Can you take—can we go…” Tim rubbed at his face, looking lost.

Jason sighed. The kid was evidently too far away right now for Jason’s words to even touch him. His tone softened. “Where do you want to go, Tim?”

“I want to go  _ home. _ Back to Gotham. I just don’t—I don’t have anywhere to go. I can’t go back to the Manor, I don’t…” He covered his eyes with a single hand, pressing hard.

“It’s okay, kid. We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you find a place. But you’re seeing Bruce first.”

The hand came off and he shifted desperate, watery eyes to Jason. “Jay, I—” Jason held up a hand of his own, cutting off whatever he was going to say.

The sternness in his voice didn’t leave room for argument. He did  _ not _ sound like Bruce. Did  _ not. _ “You don’t have to see him in person. We’re going to sit in front of the monitors on the security deck. You can have that much, at least.”

——

Tim watched them wheel Bruce in. It didn’t feel real. It wasn’t enough. The monitors. He needed to be there. He needed to see that Bruce was really back with all of his own senses.

So when they’d moved Bruce to a private room in the medical bay, Tim slipped silently out of his and Jason’s room, leaving Jason sleeping in his bed.

Bruce’s room was dim, the lights low to let him rest peacefully. The sharp antiseptic smell of hospitals and medbays still permeated the air, but it felt more like a hotel room than a medical suite. The bed looked soft and comfortable and Bruce wasn’t hooked up to a plethora of machines, just a few small ones beeping gently. He wasn’t in bad enough shape to need anything intensive. Just exhausted. Dehydrated. A single IV line snaked from a pole beside his bed to a cannula in his arm.

He was a little thinner now, a little more haggard, but he still looked like himself. Just tired. He was so still. Tim had never seen him so still before. Even as Batman, silent and calm in the shadows he would still be moving, his weight shifting slightly as he watched from the darkness, muscles rippling, tensing, poised to strike; but here he was limp. Cold.

Tim reached out a hand and brushed it gently over Bruce’s arm.

No, not cold. Warm. Alive. The warmth of his father’s skin traveled up his fingers and lit a spark in his chest. Something inside of him loosened, something that he hadn’t even noticed had been tight all these months.

_ “Bruce,” _ he choked out in a quiet sob. “It’s really you.”

Bruce’s eyes fluttered and blue peeked out from slitted lids. Tim started and jerked his hand back, the warmth suddenly more like a burning heat.

Bruce’s chapped lips parted and he breathed. His voice was low, raspy. “Tim?”

But Tim was gone, melting back into the shadows like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'M SORRY.
> 
> \---  
> So Ray (Atom) is 100% based off of the Arroweverse version of the character because I don’t have much familiarity with the comic version, unfortunately. Sorry comic Atom fans. He's also hella pan here because why not. Same for Rip being Arrowverse Rip because I love him. Also, some dialogue here is taken directly from the comics, which I forgot to mention occurred in the last chapter as well.
> 
> Please don't forget to leave a comment!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old wounds and new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Two chapters in the same 24 hours? ;)  
> This is the end of Part 1, here goes...

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jason and Tim stood in the bare living room of Tim’s new apartment, arms loaded with boxes.

Tim nodded, a piece of his too-long hair falling over his eyes. “Yeah. No offense, but I couldn’t handle another second of being anywhere there’s sand.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, I get that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “But, I mean. You know, we could have—I have a couple of safe houses around Europe, and—”

Tim shook his head, setting the box in his arms on the floor in the corner of the room and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I’m tired of running around the world. I think I need to be here for a while. Home. Gotham. I missed it.”

Jason moved to set his own box down, plopping it down where he stood. The few boxes that littered the room were some of the things that they had grabbed from one of Tim’s Gotham safe houses—basic necessities that would get him by until he could get more stuff. He hadn’t thought about how he was going to get his stuff from the Manor without alerting everyone that he was back in town. He couldn’t think about that yet. Right now he was just working on focusing on the present. It was something Jason was trying to teach him.

_“Getting caught up in the past is the last thing you want to do right now. Trust me, I would know. That’s not a path that leads to anything good. You can work on thinking about the future later. Right now is about the present. Everything else is a distraction you can’t afford.”_

Right now, in the present, Jason was standing across the room from him... _fidgeting_ nervously. Tim studied him, assessing.

Jason cleared his throat awkwardly. “So...is Superb— _Conner,_ coming soon?” he asked. “I should probably head out, but if you want me to wait so you’re not alone—”

“It’s okay, he should be here any second.” Tim interrupted. “ Jay, you know…This _is_ a three-bedroom apartment. You could—”

Jason waved him off. “No no. No, that’s—thanks. I’m good. I’ve already got a place—some places in the city.”

Tim’s felt his brow pinch. _“Some_ places? Jay, do you have an _actual_ place to live? Or do you just bounce around your safe houses?”

Jason tried to look offended. _“No,”_ he scoffed, unconvincingly.

Tim gave him a look and Jason rolled his eyes. “The ship was home for a while. When I was with Roy and Kory. Then Biz and Artemis and I had a place, but it kind of got destroyed.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. If I _wanted_ to settle down, I could. It’s just safer not to stay in one place for too long.”

Tim sighed. “Safer when you don’t have anybody watching your back, maybe. You’d have me and Conner here. You could sleep with both eyes closed. Unarmed.”

Jason laughed. “Unarmed. Cute.”

Tim smiled softly. “Okay, both eyes closed, at least. Seriously. I know you and Kon don’t know each other that well, but you’d get along I think.”

Jason snorted. “The Superman clone? Get along with me?”

Tim frowned. “He’s not just ‘a Superman clone,’ Jason. I _know_ you know that, you’ve got a Superman clone of your own, don’t you? Kon’s his own person. He and Clark aren’t the same. They’re pretty different, actually. You’d like him if you gave him the chance.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “And he wouldn’t have a problem with my body count?”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Jay, _we all_ have a problem with your body count. That doesn’t stop us from caring about you. We can work around it. Besides, when’s the last time you killed anyone, anyway? And when’s the last time you killed anyone in _Gotham?”_

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not going straight, kid.”

Tim shrugged. “I’m not saying you are. Just making observations.”

“Keep your observations to yourself, Timmy,” Jason said, turning to make his way towards the door. “I’m good on my own. I’ll see you around.”

“Jay, wait!”

Jason turned back, hand on the knob.

“You’re—Are you leaving Gotham? I could still use your help. With...everything. And I’d still like to see you.”

Jason pulled the door open. “Yeah, kid. I’ll stick around. You’ve got my number. I’m here anytime you need me.”

The door closed behind him with a click.

——

Tim was alone in the apartment for the first time since they’d moved in. He was curled up on the couch, dozing, the TV playing softly in the background.

There was a soft knock on the door and Tim’s head shot up. Conner had gone on a quick grocery run. He’d only been gone for ten minutes. No one knew where their place was except Tim, Jay, and Kon, and neither Jay nor Kon would feel the need to knock. Tim reached for the spare bo staff he kept hidden in the couch cushions and crept silently toward the door. He pressed his eye to the peep hole and…

Stumbled back, his breath ratcheting up a notch.

Bruce stood outside the door, dressed in his civilian clothes. Waiting.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Tim? Tim, it’s me. I know you’re in there.” That was his voice. Bruce’s voice. Clear. Alive. Healthy. The first time Tim had _really_ actually heard it since Bruce had “died” so long ago.

After a few beats of silence he knocked again. “Tim, I just want to talk. I want to apologize for whatever it is that’s causing you to avoid me. No one will tell me what happened. I just want to make sure you’re alright. I haven’t seen you since...I just want to see you, Tim.”

He thought about sneaking out the window, but he knew better. Bruce would just confront him on the rooftop outside. No, he was safer in here. Bruce wouldn’t—

“Tim, I want to respect your privacy, I don’t want to pick this lock, but I’m worried about you. Please.”

—force his way in? Fuck.

He’d never heard Bruce’s voice sound so...desperate, before. Batman he had, sure, but never Bruce.

He had to _do_ something. He couldn’t let Bruce see him like this. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.” His voice came out strained.

There was a small measure of relief in Bruce’s voice. “Tim? What’s wrong? Did I...do something? Are you angry with me?”

Tim shook his head even though he knew Bruce couldn’t see him. “No. It’s not your fault, I just—It’s me. I can’t see you right now.”

“Tim, whatever it is, I won’t be angry. Whatever’s happened. I just want to _see_ you, son. Please.”

_I just want to see you, son._

Bruce sounded so _torn._ A flash of guilt rippled through him. It was _his_ fault that Bruce sounded that way. He was _hurting_ him.

But seeing Tim...like this...would hurt him more. 

Wouldn’t it?

But he would find out. Sooner or later, he would find out. It was a miracle that no one from the League had said anything yet. It was only a matter of time.

Better to rip the bandaid off now, maybe.

But dammit Tim wasn’t _ready._

“I...a lot happened while you were away, Bruce.” He could barely make his voice loud enough to pass through the wood of the door, but Bruce seemed to hear him anyway.

A pregnant pause. “I gathered.”

“A lot happened...to me. I’m not the same.” He was terrified that Bruce would see that. Bruce always saw more than anyone. What would he see when he looked at Tim now?

“That’s okay. Whatever it is, we can work through it together. You’re still Tim.” _We can work through it together._ God he wanted that. He wanted that so bad.

Tim’s voice betrayed him, cracking and weak. “But I’m _not,_ Bruce. I don’t know _who_ I am now.”

“Yes you do. You’re Tim. My Tim. Open the door so we can talk, son. Please?”

_My Tim._

_Son._

Tim cracked. Caved. He undid the locks and pulled the door open. He held his breath.

It had been two weeks since Bruce had come back. He was still on the thinner side, but his color had returned. The bags beneath his eyes had faded. He looked good. Healthy. If Tim were honest, he probably looked the least tired he’d ever seen him, having probably been forced by Alfred to get some proper rest for once.

He stood stock still, taking in Tim’s appearance and Tim saw it on his face the moment he realized what had changed. A look of horror slowly dawned on his face as his eyes moved over Tim.

Tim shrank under his gaze. He could only imagine the things Bruce was seeing. He took a step back into the room, shoulders hunched. His heart thudded in his chest, his lungs seizing with fear. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Tim, what—”

“Don’t,” Tim stopped him. _“Don’t_ ask me what happened. Everyone keeps asking me that. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t—I don’t—” His face was wet and he couldn’t breathe. He took solace in the fact that at least there was no green. No rage, just breathless anguish.

Bruce pulled him forward and crushed him against his broad chest. “Okay, okay.” He shushed Tim, soothing him like he would a child he’d just saved in a damp corner of Crime Alley. “It’s okay, Tim. You don’t have to talk about it.” His voice was as wrecked as Tim had ever heard it.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry. I s-should have been more c-careful,” he hiccuped. “You trained me _better_ than this, I let him g-get the drop on me, I should h-have been more _vigilant,_ b-but I was ov-over confidant, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, Tim, just breathe.” Bruce’s large hand rubbed circles in Tim’s back.

“I’m s-so sorry, you just got back, you sh-shouldn’t h-have to—”

“Don’t do that, Tim. Don’t worry about me right now, kiddo. Everything’s okay now. We’re both here, we’re both safe. Everything’s fine.”

Eventually Tim got his breathing under control and the flow of tears slowed. He pulled back from Bruce, wiping his face, suddenly embarrassed. They didn’t do this, this wasn’t their dynamic. Neither of them had ever been particularly tactile people. “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

Bruce hooked a finger under the side of Tim’s jaw and tilted his head up to look him in the eye. He wiped at Tim’s tears with his free hand. “Stop apologizing.”

“Okay. Sor—” Tim clamped his mouth shut on the automatic apology and sad amusement flickered over Bruce’s face.

“Can I come inside?”

Tim suddenly felt stupid, standing half in the hallway having a meltdown like an idiot. Bruce hadn’t even managed to get a foot in the door before Tim was slobbering all over him. Tim cleared his throat and had to bite down on another apology. “Um, yeah. Come in.”

Bruce stepped inside and looked around, taking in the bare walls and the lack of substantial furniture. Tim led him to the couch and he sat down. “It’s nice,” he said. His gaze kept flicking back to Tim’s hair. His expression was distant.

The kitchen and the living room were joined with only a half wall, so they could still speak while Tim stepped over to the sink to fill a glass with water. He gulped it down, soothing his tear-ragged throat before grabbing another glass and filling it for Bruce. “We just moved in,” he said, watching the glass fill. “Still needs work.”

“You and Conner?” he asked, as though he didn’t already know. As though he hadn’t been watching the entrance to the building, waiting for Conner to leave.

Tim moved from the kitchen to the living room and sat gingerly down on the edge of the couch. “Yeah. I know you don’t like metas in the city—” He held the glass of water out to Bruce.

Bruce waved him off, taking the glass with his other hand. “No, no. It’s fine. Well. We’ll talk about it. Conner...helps you?”

Tim nodded, swallowing passed a lump in his throat. “Yeah. He...I can’t hurt him, so he’s...safe. If I…”

A tense expression flickered over Bruce’s face. He smoothed it out, but Tim caught it in the milliseconds that it was there. Sadness. Anger.

“So you…” He rolled the glass of water between his palms, clearly searching for a tactful way to ask. Tim spared him.

“P-Pit madness. I’m working on it. Jay’s helping.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up at that. No one had told him, then. “Jason?”

Tim nodded and took a breath. “Yeah, he found me. In Qurac. He brought me home. He’s helping me work through the worst of it. He’s been...really good to have around, actually.”

“That’s...that’s good. I’m glad. He’s...well?”

Tim actually thought about how to answer that. Jason probably wouldn’t appreciate him giving up too much information. “He’s as well as can be.”

Bruce inclined his head in understanding. “I heard about Sanctuary. Roy. Jay was my first thought.”

Tim nodded, though the flash of surprise he felt wasn’t really warranted. There really was no point in trying to hide anything from Batman. “He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him as much as I know it does.”

“You’re helping him?” His words were tinged with hope.

A twinge of guilt. “I _should_ be. I’ve been kind of caught up in my own stuff, but I’m trying. He’s not the most receptive.”

Bruce smiled fondly. “No, he wouldn’t be.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Bruce spoke again. He was staring at Tim again. Batman’s eyes boring into him, analyzing. “Are you... _eating?_ You’re so—”

Stop looking. Please stop looking. “It’s fine, Bruce. I’ve got it under control.”

Bruce didn’t look convinced, he sat his untouched glass of water onto the small coffee table at their knees and turned to face Tim. “Tim, would you…would you consider coming back to the Manor? Just for a little while? I’d like to help. Alfred would like to see you.”

_And Dick._ Tim didn’t miss that obviously intentional omission, but he could still hear the echo of it. Dick must have said something. He wondered how much Bruce knew about what happened while he was gone. _No one will tell me what happened,_ he’d said, but they must have told him _something._ He must know that Tim wasn’t Robin anymore, did he _know—_

Tim felt himself pale and he could feel the Pit stirring in his stomach. He breathed through it, and he saw the sparks of concern in Bruce’s gaze. “I can’t, Bruce,” he choked out.

Bruce’s hands were on arms, a comforting warmth on his skin. “No Manor. Okay, it’s okay.” Bruce was almost _panicking._ His body still, but rigid, tensed like he needed to move, to _do something_ but he didn’t know what. “I’m sorry, I won’t ask again.”

Tim breathed and the feeling in his stomach eased. “It’s okay,” he said. “There’s just a lot that happened while you were away. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but...I can’t—I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry, I wish I could explain, but…not right now. Give me some time.”

With Jason and Conner it had been—well it hadn’t been _easy,_ but he had been able to detach himself, while he told his story. He couldn’t do that with Bruce. It was too real, here, with Bruce’s worried gaze on him. With Batman lurking beneath Bruce’s skin, ready to tear his story apart, to analyze and _see_ every word of it. It was too much with Bruce, with Batman. Tim was too raw.

“I understand,” Bruce said softly, his voice calm and so uncharacteristically _genuine,_ like he really _did_ understand. But he _couldn’t._ “I just wish I knew what I could do to help.”

Tim huffed a dry, strained laugh. “You’re alive, Bruce. I found you. That’s enough.” And it was, right now. It really was. That’s all he needed from Bruce, just to be here, to be alive.

“You did, Tim. Clark told me. I’m so grateful. And I’m so _proud_ of you, son.” Tim couldn’t help the reflexive jolt of warmth that spasmed through him at the praise.

Then Bruce was wrapping Tim in a hug. This time it wasn’t crushing and panicked like he was trying to hold Tim together when he was flying apart. This hug was soft, and warm, and gentle. Tim sank into it and just let himself breathe in Bruce’s scent. He smelled like home.

——

Jason sat on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. His helmet sat next to him, a red domino covering his eyes. He had his phone in one hand, a half-eaten hot dog in the other. It had been a quiet night so far, and he didn’t feel guilty about the break.

“Jason.”

He startled, dropping the hot dog and watching it mournfully as it sailed over the edge of the roof and into the Gotham night. He didn’t even get to hear it splat as it hit the pavement below.

“Dammit, B,” he cursed, turning his head to glare at the man standing in the shadows on the rooftop behind him. “That was a waste of a good chili dog.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” Batman said, gliding forward to stand closer to Jason. Jason pushed himself to his feet, shoving his phone back into his pocket lest it meet the same fate as the ‘dog. “The stands are all closed now,” Jason sighed. “What do you want?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he grated out. It wasn’t a question.

Jason snorted. “Yeah? What else is new?”

“You’ve been avoiding me because of Tim.” Another not-question.

Shit. Jason glared and crossed his arms, trying to mask his surprise with annoyance. What did Bruce know?

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” he tried.

“I know about the Pit, Jay.” The words fell slowly past Batman’s lips and dropped to their feet like graveyard mist. His shoulders were slumped beneath the cape.

Jason ground his teeth. Great. Who told him? Did Tim know? “We talkin’ avocados or peaches?”

“Jason. I spoke with Tim.” The words were still soft and foggy.

Jason let his hands drop down to his sides. “Oh.”

“He...wasn’t able to tell me much. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he said he…” Jason was glad he couldn’t see Bruce’s eyes behind the cowl. Batman wasn’t supposed to sound like that.

“Couldn’t, probably. Yeah. It would be hard to talk about with you. You’re all…” He waved his hands in a vague gesture. “Judgy.”

Something flickered over the bottom half of Batman’s face at that, but he didn’t touch it. “I was hoping…” Batman _wrung his hands_ anxiously. Whoa. Jason didn’t think he’d ever seen _that_ before. “That you might be able to fill in the gaps for me. He says you’ve been helping him.”

Jason sighed. “It’s not really any of my business, B. If Tim asks me to tell you, fine, but he hasn’t.”

“Jason. _Please.”_ Batman pulled back his cowl and Jason started, looking around frantically.

“B, _what the hell._ There could be surveillance, _what are you doing?”_

“Jason. I couldn’t be there for you when you were resurrected.” Cold washed over Jason and he took a reflexive step back at the words. “But I can be there for Tim. Please tell me what happened so I know how to help him. I...I want to do better, Jay-lad. Like I should have with you.”

Jason swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat. Anger flared in his stomach, but he pushed it down. There were so many things he could say in response to that, but the words were too mixed with the green that was trying to bubble up and he was so damned tired of being angry. _“Fine._ Put the damn cowl back on, you’re giving me a goddamn heart attack.”

Bruce replaced the cowl and Jason plopped down heavily onto his butt, leaning his back against an air conditioning unit. Bruce remained standing, looking down at him expectantly. _Nervously._ What the fuck.

“It’s a long damn story. And I’m pretty sure the kid left some stuff out when he told it.” He really hoped Tim wasn’t going to hate him for this. He was long past pretending to be indifferent about what the kid thought of him. He wanted his brother to like him. But he also needed to help him. Jason had to think that things would be better for Tim if Bruce knew.

Bruce nodded patiently. “Tell me what you know.”

——

Dick and Damian had taken to working in the Cave again now that Bruce was back, rather than the Bunker. Dick had kept the cowl thus far, and they hadn’t talked about what they would do once Bruce was well enough to pick it back up.

They still hadn’t talked about it even though Bruce had gone out tonight. Not for a patrol, he’d promised, but he wouldn’t let either of them accompany him. That left Dick feeling nervous and out of sorts. He tried not to worry.

As it was, Bruce wasn’t gone for long. Dick was at the computer working on a case when the Batmobile rumbled into the Cave. He stood from his chair and went to meet Bruce, Damian wandering over from the training mats to join him. Neither of them were in costume, having been told to stay in for the night while Bruce handled whatever business he’d been attending to.

Bruce stepped out of the car, cowl hanging down his back. There was something in his face, something stormy and... _chaotic_ that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Something had happened. Something very bad.

“Bruce? What’s wrong?” Fear churned in his gut.

Bruce’s movements were jerky. Dick had the urge to put a hand out to steady the man, but something stopped him.

Bruce’s voice was dark, strained. “Did you know? About Tim?”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up. His heart dropped. “What? What happened to Tim? Is he okay?”

Thunder rolled in his voice. “No. He is not okay. He is the furthest thing from okay, Dick.”

Oh no. No no no. Dick’s blood was suddenly ice in his veins, his heart freezing up. “What—what happened? Is he—is—”

“Father.” Damian stepped up beside Dick, his shoulder brushing quietly against Dick’s arm, a grounding heat at his side. “Perhaps I can explain.”

Bruce’s stony gaze turned to his blood son. “Damian.”

Damian swallowed. Anyone who didn’t know him would see Robin standing tall, defiant against a towering Batman, but Dick could see that he was nervous, unsure. He barely knew his father, had only just begun to get to know him.

Damian’s voice was smooth, nonetheless. Measured. Controlled. “Grayson is not aware of the situation. Todd and Drake have kept it hidden.” His back was straight, his arms crossed behind them.

Dick turned his face down to his brother. “Damian?”

A minute tilt of Bruce’s head. The slightest narrowing of his eyes. Calculating. Assessing. “But not from you?”

“I was not meant to know. I discovered it on my own. Drake was unconscious and Todd was emotional.” The tiniest bite of arrogance in his tone. “It was a lapse on their part.”

Dick felt suddenly as though he were standing on shaky ground, his thoughts twisting. “Damian, what are you talking about? You’ve all been hiding something from me?” The stress of these last months sat in his chest like a lump of iron. He couldn’t handle anything else. They just got Bruce back. Things were finally getting better. What weren’t they telling him?

“You kept a secret for Tim?” Bruce asked. He didn’t hide the surprise in his voice, the skepticism towards his own son’s words. Dick winced.

“I…” Damian faltered, searching carefully for his next words. “The Pit was…” His eyes flicked to Dick and Dick could see how nervous he was. He’d never seen Damian’s emotions so open on his face before. For him to allow himself to seem so vulnerable in the presence of others meant that whatever this was must have really been affecting him. “The Pit was used as a...threat many times when I was a child. I have been made to witness the...side effects. I would not wish them on my worst enemy. Not even _Drake._ ”

Cold fear rippled over Dick. _“Pit?_ As in _Lazarus?_ Can someone please tell me what the hell is going _on?”_

“While Tim was searching for me in Qurac,” Bruce said, his usually careful voice wavering, full of heat and dust. “He was attacked. He was...k—” The sound that came out of Bruce couldn’t quite be called a choke, but it was something akin to one.

“I suspect that Drake was killed,” Damian finished for him, his voice quiet. “He was revived with the Lazarus Pit. I—I do not know the specifics, but when he and Todd returned I saw a white spot in Drake’s hair. Like my grandfather has. Like Todd.”

It was like the ground disappeared from beneath him. Like he was free falling without a grapple. Or a net.

Died. Tim. Tim had died. Alone, in a strange country.

And Dick hadn’t even _known._

Suddenly there was a chair being pushed into the back of his knees and they buckled. He dropped into the seat.

“Sit before you fall, Grayson.”

Oh god. The Lazarus Pit. He’d been—Was he even _sane?_ _The side effects,_ Damian had said. Most people didn’t come out of the Lazarus Pit _whole._ Most of them came out as crazed, bloodthirsty _zombies—_ Had _Tim…_

Bruce was crouching in front of him now, his large, strong hands pressing into each of Dick’s thighs. “He’s okay, Dick,” he was saying, the quiet anger in his face gone, replaced with despondency and deep concern. Had Dick been saying those things out loud or had Bruce just seen it on his face?

 _“Okay?_ Bruce, how could he possibly be _okay?_ He _died._ He died _alone,_ while I was _here._ I drove him away, Bruce. I took Robin from him, I said terrible things to him, I—the last thing I did before he left Gotham was call him _crazy_ and then he—he—It’s like Jay all over again Bruce—”

Bruce _growled,_ his grip on Dick’s thighs turning almost painful. “Dick, he isn’t dead. He’s _alive_ and we can _fix this._ We _have_ to fix this. We can help him. We just have to get him to _let_ us.”

A cold numbness was washing over Dick. Everything felt very far away. “No wonder he hates me. God, Bruce, he can’t even talk to me. He—oh god. Jay said talking to me gave him a _panic attack,_ but it wasn’t just that was it, it was—” He was going to be sick.

Bruce closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped tiredly, his grip on Dick’s legs easing. “Pit madness.”

Dick choked off a strangled wail and pressed both of his hands over his mouth.

There was no inflection to Bruce’s tone this time. He’d closed himself back up. Like he always did. “It’s okay, chum. It’s going to be alright. We can fix this.”

Jason’s voice echoed in his head, the words hitting him so much differently this time.

_Dick, listen to me. I don’t know if you can fix this._

——

Jason was in one of his shitty, run-down safe houses. The smell of mold and cat piss lingered in the air, paint peeling off the walls. The furniture was run down, but sturdy, and despite the smell, the place was clean. There were no bed bugs or fleas. The water and the appliances worked. It wasn’t home, but it was livable. He wouldn’t be here for more than a day or two, anyway.

He had just crawled into bed. No patrol tonight—he was tired and aching after spending the last week taking down a small-time trafficking ring that had just been getting its start on the East Side. He’d expected it to be much easier than it turned out to be and he’d been working himself to exhaustion every night. Now that it was over, this night was for actual, restful sleep.

He should have known better.

He’d _just_ finally started to drift off when there was a loud knock on his door. He jerked out of bed, the gun he kept under his pillow already in his hand.

Who the hell could that be? This was a safe house. The whole point was that no one knew he was here.

He didn’t bother answering the door. Instead he grabbed his jacket from the floor near the bed and shoved it on as he slipped out the bedroom window and swung himself out of it and over into the window to the empty apartment next door. Most of the apartments in this building were vacant and unlivable, this one included. He crept through the dusty, rickety room and very slowly opened the front door just a crack. He pulled out a small mirror he kept in one of his jacket pockets and slowly angled it through the crack in the door to see who was standing outside of his apartment next door. The mirror showed a man, dark jeans, red shirt. He angled it further up to show the man’s face and…

His heart stopped. The mirror fell from his numb fingers, clattering loudly to the floor.

“Hello?” the man called. “Who’s there?” His voice echoed through the dark halls and Jason wanted to shut the sound of it out of his head so badly.

Jason stumbled back from the door, too stunned to do anything else. Footsteps approached. A hand pushed the door open further, a red-topped head peeking in. Green eyes met his and crinkled, the face splitting into a grin.

“Jaybird, what are you doing in here?” God, that was his voice. It was so real.

“R-Roy?” Jason’s lips were numb, he couldn’t even feel the word form as it tumbled out.

“Jay?” The smile on Roy’s face faltered. “You okay?”

“R-Roy, how—” Clone. Clayface. Robot. Alien. _Something._ He needed to move, needed to attack, defend, _run,_ anything. But he couldn’t move. He _couldn’t,_ that _voice—_

“Whoa, Jaybird, relax. It’s just me. I’m sorry, did I wake you? I know that can throw you for a loop sometimes.” Roy’s voice was slow and calm, the way he always was when he was talking Jason down from a panic or a manic episode or— 

“Y-You—” Lips still numb, tongue clumsy. He couldn’t feel his body.

The imposter with Roy’s face, his voice, took a slow step forward. “Deep breaths, Jay. You’re okay.”

He wasn’t. He really wasn’t. Words. Make them work, Jason, spit it _out._ “Roy, you’re _dead._ How are you...how are you _here?”_

A flicker of bemusement shifting freckles and red brows. “Dead? What are you talking about? Just keep breathing, Jay. Like we talked about. You’re just confused. That happens sometimes, remember? You know where you are?”

Was he just confused? Sometimes his memory...“S-safe house. Gotham.”

An encouraging smile that didn’t reach eyes drawn together in concern. “Good, that’s good. Keep talking. Tell me what’s wrong?”

 _I’ll see you soon, Jaybird._ The last thing Roy had ever said to him. Before he was just another body in the dirt. “You d-died, Roy. You...Wally. He-he—there was an accident at Sanctuary. You were _killed.”_

The worry in Roy’s expression deepened. “Killed? Jaybird, I think you just had a nightmare.” He reached cautiously for Jason’s arm. “Come on, let’s go back into your—”

Suddenly the air crackled and the hair on the back of Jason’s neck stood on end. Roy was staring behind Jason, at something over his shoulder, fear twisting his features. “Wally? What’s wrong with you?”

Jason spun around. Wally West stood behind them. He was in his Flash uniform. Blue lightning crackled around him. His expression was blank and there was something dark in his Pit-green eyes.

Roy stepped back fearfully, his eyes flicking back and forth from Wally to Jason. “Wally, man, what’s wrong with you? What are you doing?” Flick to Jason. “Jaybird? What’s going on?”

Wally took a step forward. There was something off in his movements. He wasn’t moving like a speedster, flitting and jerky, full of boundless energy. He was... _slinking_ forward. _Slowly._ Smooth and graceful. Menacing and snakelike.

Jason could stop him. He wasn’t using his speed. Jason could step in front of Wally and stop him in his tracks.

But he couldn’t move. It was like his feet were rooted to the ground.

Roy seemed to be having the same problem. He didn’t take another step back. Instead he stared at Wally with growing horror on his face. In the sparking blue light Jason could see that he was shaking. “Jay, help me. Wally, stop, what are you doing? Jaybird? Jay, stop him. Please.”

Wally was close now, towering over Roy. Jason remembered Wally only being a few inches taller than Roy, but now he seemed much more so. Taller than Jason, even.

Wally raised his hand. Something glinted in the lightning that was still cracking in the air. Something metallic.

A crowbar.

Wally raised the heavy tool and Jason strained hard against whatever force was holding him to his spot, but it was useless. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop what was about to happen.

Wally wound his arm back and _swung._ Roy’s strangled cry reverberated through the air, cut short by a loud _crack_ and—

Jason was falling, tumbling through the air. He landed on a hard surface with a jarring thud.

He scrambled up, a scream caught in his throat. He spun around, blinking blearily, trying to get his bearings. Roy, Wally, they were—where—

But he wasn’t in the vacant apartment. He was alone. In the bedroom where he had fallen asleep. The blankets on the bed were a tangled mess. He was sweating and breathing hard, his eyes still blurry and itchy from sleep. He checked under his pillow and the gun was still there, untouched. His jacket remained on the floor where he had left it before going to bed.

 _“Fuck.”_ He ran a shaking hand through his sweaty hair, breathing hard. Just a dream. Just a really shitty fucking nightmare.

He stumbled forward and dropped to his butt on the floor, twisting so that his back was against the bed frame. The hard surface underneath him helped to ground him. He realized he was crying and wiped angrily at his face.

He could hear Roy’s voice in his head. _Five-four-three-two-one, Jaybird. Five things you can see, four things you can feel...Come on, you know the drill. We’ve done this a hundred times._

But Roy wasn’t here. He was dead. Wally West had killed him. And Jason hadn’t _been there._ If he’d _been there..._

He fumbled for the phone on his bedside and thumbed the screen on.

He needed…

His first instinct when he was feeling like this was always to call Roy.

But he couldn’t do that now. There was no one, he…

_That’s Jason. He’s my brother._

This...this was the kind of thing brothers were for, wasn’t it? Would it be weird, calling Tim? He was having a hard enough time dealing with his own shit right now, he didn’t need Jason piling his bullshit on top.

But he’d said…

_That doesn’t stop us from caring about you._

Tim...cared about Jason. They were brothers. Brothers helped each other.

Brothers _asked_ each other for help.

He needed to hear someone else’s voice right now. The silence of the shitty bedroom was suffocating. All he could hear was the crackle of blue lightning in his head.

He tapped Tim’s name.

Tim’s voice was groggy, slurred. Jason winced. He didn’t even know what time it was. “Jay? Wha’s wrong? You okay?”

Jason tried to make his voice work. He really did. He felt stupid, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, but his throat was too tight.

“Jason?” Tim’s voice was clearer now, more awake—worry and adrenaline clearing away the sleep. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I—” It came out a croak. “Yeah.”

“Jay where are you? Are you hurt?”

“No—” He managed. He cleared his throat and it loosened enough to get more words out. “I’m fine. It’s okay. Sorry.” He shouldn’t have called. Tim had been sleeping.

“Where are you?”

“S-safe house.”

“Give me the address.”

“N-no, I’m okay. Sorry, I shouldn't have—”

“Just give me the address, Jay. Don’t make me track you down, it’ll take longer.”

Jason rattled off the address and he could hear Tim moving on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t—”

“Any booby traps on the door I need to worry about?”

“Yeah. Usual stuff.”

“I’m on my way. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“No. I’m okay.”

“Jay. It’s okay not to be.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay. I’m hanging up. I’ll be there soon.”

Fifteen minutes later he heard soft clicking and scraping sounds as Tim disengaged the traps on his door and picked the locks. Even the deadbolt didn’t give him any difficulty.

“Jay?” he called quietly. “Are you here?”

Jason didn’t answer. He was sobbing silently into his drawn-up knees now, his whole body shaking. He just let Tim find him. Tim’s feet didn’t make any sound on the carpet as his dark silhouette appeared at the bedroom door.

“Jason?” he said, hesitantly. His voice was low and slow, like he was talking to an animal. He stood still at the door, shifting his weight silently from foot to foot anxiously. His knees were slightly bent, ready to move quickly if he needed to.

“I’m okay,” Jason rasped.

Tim’s shoulders relaxed minutely and he edged forward cautiously. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You keep saying that.”

“I’m o-okay. You can go home.”

“Yeah, not happening.” He was moving less cautiously now, having decided that Jason probably wasn’t going to attack him. “You sure you’re not hurt?” His eyes scanned Jason’s hunched body, but there was no way he’d see any injuries in the dark like this.

“I was sleeping.”

Tim’s shoulders relaxed a bit more. “Oh.” He scrunched his nose. “Wait, you’re fully clothed.”

Jason sniffled, evening his breathing out some. “I always sleep in my clothes when I’m not on the island.”

Tim’s face fell and he sighed, but he didn’t push the subject. “‘Least you’re not in your armor, I guess,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Tim dropped down next to Jason, leaning his back against the bed. He scooted closer, bumping shoulders when Jason didn’t protest.

“Bad dream?” he asked after a while.

Jason didn’t answer for a long time. Not until he could finally trust his voice and his eyes were finally dry. “Yeah. Roy.”

Tim leaned more heavily into Jason. “Oh.”

A few more beats and then. “You miss him.” It wasn’t really a question. The answer was obvious, but he’d take anything that helped fill the oppressive silence.

He nodded. “He—I wanted to call him. When I woke up. He was always the one I called when I had a bad night. I don’t...I don’t have anyone else, now. Everyone’s gone.” He hated the way his voice cracked.

Tim tilted his knee sideways, knocking it into Jason’s. “I’m here. I know it’s not the same, but. You’re not alone.”

Jason leaned against Tim’s weight and tilted his head back against the bed, closing his eyes. “Thanks. For coming.”

He felt Tim shrug. “ ‘S what brothers are for,” he mumbled.

They sat in companionable silence for a while and Jason, eyes still closed, felt himself drifting when Tim’s voice drew him from the doze. “Jay?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are all of your safe houses shitholes?”

Jason snorted. “This is one of the nicer ones.”

Tim winced. “Geeze. Will you please just come stay with us? Conner won’t mind. We already talked about it.”

“You talked about it? Even after I said no the first time?”

Tim ducked his head, looking sheepish. “Yeah. I was going to come up with a plan. To convince you to stay.”

Jason sighed. Tim Drake on a mission was a pain in the ass.

“Please? Just for tonight, at least. You can leave any time you want, just...try for a little while? You shouldn’t be alone.”

Jason closed his eyes again, letting his head flop back a little more forcefully this time. “Okay.”

He felt Tim perk up next to him. “Really?”

“Just for tonight.”

Tim didn’t call him out on the obvious lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Part 1, guys! This fic gave me a big headache for a long time, but I'm glad it's finally all out there, and I'm hoping Part 2 will be a big improvement.
> 
> This last chapter is pretty sparsely edited, but I was ready to get it out.
> 
> I got so many nice comments, I'm seriously so grateful to everyone who had kind and encouraging words for me, you really have no idea how much they helped.
> 
> Don't forget to [subscribe to the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907866) so you'll be notified when Part 2 comes out! If you're just subscribed to this fic you won't be notified!


End file.
